Bodily Arts & Flowering Hearts
by 15EmiRose21
Summary: Arthur Kirkland, a tattoo artist in-training meets(to both his pleasure and displeasure) Francis Bonnefoy, a local flower shop owner, while running an errand for his boss. The two seem to have nearly instant connection, both bad and good, and soon they can't seem to stay away from each other. Punk!UK x France, rated M for language and smut later on
1. Chapter 1

**Hello and welcome to my newest fic, Bodily Art & Flowering Hearts. The name is still a prototype, because most of the time I'm actually not that good at naming my fics. So the name might change in the future.**

**This is my first FrUk fic, but the shipping is one of my OTPs along with SuFin and PruCan. This idea came to me as I was watching Youtube videos and watched a parody video about all kinds of different fanfic tropes, and I spent the entire weekend writing this. I'm still writing it, but this one won't be another super long one like my first fic (Under the North Star). Five chapters at most, I promise.**

**This is also my first fic with smut in it. It isn't my first time writing smut itself, however, so it won't be cringy or largely inaccurate. Now, enjoy this fic, I poured lots of my love into it. Thank you for checking it out :D**

**I do not own Hetalia, I only own my own imagination**

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Chapter 1

"_Are you really expecting to make a living out of this?"_

"_Honey, there was another call from your teacher…"_

"_Give it back!"_

"_Stop doing this rubbish and focus on graduating. That's the least you can do, ungrateful ingrate."_

"_Get out of my bloody house!"_

"_I'm just so tired…please…don't come back…"_

The emerald eyes flew open as the familiar voices on his past echoed through his mind. Arthur sat up, a headache soon replaced the remnants of his nightmare and the young man groaned. The hangover explained the nightmare, Arthur always had them after a pub night. Ironic that after an evening of sinful pleasure he had to suffer through a night of pain. That was some karma if Arthur ever saw one.

But despite the headache, the beginnings of a migraine and the emotional exhaustion Arthur had somewhere to be and something to do. The Brit crawled out of bed and navigated through his cluttered apartment towards the bathroom. Once in there Arthur flipped on the light (regretting it immediately as the halogen burned his eyes) and peeked in the mirror. Arthur cringed; he had forgotten to wash his makeup off again. Shit, his pillow must've been a mess…

Eyeshadow and -liner were smudged all around Arthur's eyes, and some of it was even streaking down his cheeks. Proof that he had reached a state of drunkenness yesterday where he had wept. Fuck, Arthur tried to avoid drinking that much, but he had just had a really tough week. Arthur wasn't one to forget things from when he was drunk, but this time his mind was a blank slate after 11pm. That wasn't a good sign. But thankfully Arthur had been out drinking alone so only strangers had witnessed his emotional drunken outbursts.

Arthur sighed and swiftly took off his clothes for a quick shower, the metal chains and studs clinking as they hit the tile floor. Arthur had glanced at the clock before, he still had some time. Besides, Arthur's boss wasn't all that uptight about arriving on time, and if she did decide to complain Gilbert would cover for Arthur's arse.

The makeup was washed away along with all the other grime Arthur had gotten on himself the night before. Thankfully none of it seemed to be bodily fluids from other people, it would've been a pain to have some one-night stand calling after Arthur when he had no memory of them. Or more like him, Arthur had always leaned towards those that were packing downtown.

Though Arthur did notice a strange ache on his left shoulder when he reached for the shampoo, it made him cringe both from pain and annoyance. He didn't want to underperform today at work, and he was left-handed. Well, it wasn't that bad, Arthur would still be able to hold his tools of trade with steady hands (hopefully…).

Arthur stepped out of the shower, and the tattoos covering his arms and back rippled along with his muscles as the Brit bent down to pick up his clothes. Arthur sniffed them and sneered from disgust. Yep, these were going to the wash along with his pillowcase. He tossed them in the hamper and grabbed a fresh towel. Arthur might've preferred a harsh, messy punk look but he still appreciated cleanliness.

Arthur stopped in front of the mirror as he was drying his hair and observed the tattoos on his skin. All of them had been made by his boss (well, almost all, Gilbert had made a clumsy smiley face on Arthur's arse during one very drunken night), a very skilled tattoo-artist by the name of Cherry. She was also Arthur's teacher, who had been teaching him all she knew during the Brit's apprenticeship.

Arthur's right arm was Alice in Wonderland themed and was a cascade of all the different characters, objects and scenes that the book was known for. Only the book, because Arthur refused to acknowledge the vision of everyone else except Carroll himself.

The left arm filled with text in English, Celtic, Welsh and all the other languages that originated from the British Isles, and there were some runes mixed in as well. They were song and book quotes Arthur had picked with great care, arranged into a beautiful chaos. If one wanted to clearly read any of the snippets they'd have to stop and carefully observe Arthur's arm, and by the time they were doing that the Brit would be gone or his fist would already be in their face. Depended on Arthur's mood.

On Arthur's back there was a tattered and torn Union Jack, that was burning on one edge. Arthur also had a tattoo that only he and Cherry had seen, a burnt match on his ankle.

All the tattoos held a meaning for Arthur, he didn't get tattoos unless he had a good reason for them. He had waited until he was 21 until he had gotten his first tattoo, the one on his left arm. He had collected quotes he loved from the age 12 up, and not knowing which one to get Arthur had just decided to get all of them but with a twist.

It annoyed Arthur greatly whenever someone came to the shop while drunk or with half-baked motivations or light-hearted feelings to get a tattoo. Arthur loved making tattoos, sure, but he also loved hearing the stories behind them. What they meant for each person, how this tattoo would change their very life, even.

Not everyone could hold the same opinions or convictions as Arthur did, but dammit, he couldn't help his temper. It flared easily, especially when it came to the things he was passionate about.

Arthur frowned angrily at his reflection and finished drying his hair. It was messy and pointed in every possible direction, and Arthur had long since given up on taming it. It rather suited his overall look as it was, wild and free. And very, very green. Almost the same shade as Arthur's eyes. It was starting to fade though; Arthur would have to ask Cherry or Gilbert to dye it for him again.

Arthur set off to immediately replace the makeup he had just washed off. He usually only used eyeliner and eyeshadow, sometimes black lipstick or some mascara if he was feeling like putting in the extra effort. Eyebrow pencil Arthur had ever owner, he had plentiful eyebrows as it was. He grabbed the eyeliner from the mirror cabinet and with a loose wrist applied it under his eyes. Arthur left it a bit messy on purpose, he liked a messy and casual look. Next Arthur applied a small amount of red and green eyeshadow at the corners of his eyes, just to accent his eyes a bit. Arthur looked at the result, it was good enough. Arthur had been told many times he was attractive, especially his eyes, and that's why he normally tried to make them pop out.

Arthur cleaned his piercings (just in case; who knew what his face had touched the night before). He had 8 in total; three in each ear, one on his nose and one on his lower lip. And all had hurt like hell (not that Arthur would ever admit it). And of course, Arthur put on a healthy amount of body spray and deodorant and brushed his teeth, he hated nothing more than people who didn't bother with personal hygiene.

Finding clothes was a much shorter process than his bathroom routine, thankfully. Arthur just picked up the nearest cleanish tank top (red), pulled on some dark blue ripped jeans (with two chains, of course) and threw on his leather jacket (with multiple studs and patches). Arthur's sturdy leather boots thudded against the cement floor of his apartment building as he made his way out the door and down to the yard, where his motorcycle was parked. Arthur had double-checked whether he had both his wallet and his keys, but he paused before the front door and checked once more just in case. Yup, they were there, Arthur was good to go.

The nip in the air surprised Arthur but didn't deter his steps as he walked across the parking lot. London was gradually welcoming autumn and it showed on both the trees here and there and in the weather. Arthur didn't mind; autumn was among the few things the Brit loved and he was one of the people who actually enjoyed the almost constant rain. Though Arthur often refused to use an umbrella, he found them annoying and a hindrance and he didn't care if he got wet.

Arthur climbed on his bike and suspected he was going to be around 10 minutes late when he looked up the time from his phone. Arthur put on his helmet (traffic safety was important, and the helmet looked cool) and shot off onto the road.

Hopefully this week wouldn't be as shitty as the last one…

* * *

"You want me to do _what_?"

Cherry was twirling a chopstick between her fingers as she sat on the sofa in the breakroom, looking up at Arthur with a face that said, _"You heard me"_.

"It's your punishment for being a bad boy and being late this morning."

"But didn't Gil explain- "

"We both know whatever Gil said was bullshit meant to cover for your hungover ass."

Arthur groaned; Cherry wasn't budging today. Not a good sign for the coming week when Arthur's boss was on his case the first thing Monday morning.

"Don't be a child about it. Or do I need to use the 'do it or you're fired' card?"

Shit, there it was. The one thing that Arthur couldn't rebel against, because he loved this job and wanted to become a full-fledged tattoo artist under Cherry's wing.

"…Curse you, wretched woman."

"That's what I like to hear. No get a move on. And pick lots of pretty ones~"

Cherry grinned maliciously, knowing that this mission would cause Arthur lots of discomfort and irritation. Because a punk entering a flower shop sounded like the beginning of a bad joke. Arthur flipped Cherry off and exited the room, stuffing his hand in his pockets.

In truth Arthur didn't hate flowers. In fact, his favourite flower, generically enough, was the rose. Specifically, the red rose. Hell, Arthur's grandma had even taught the young man to tend to a garden and if Arthur could he would've kept a small balcony garden. Alas, he had no balcony. He had few plants in his apartment though, few cacti and one succulent.

But going to buy a big bouquet of flowers as a reference for flower tattoos? Arthur didn't like the thought at all. Him saying the actual reason for buying them sounded like an excuse and the shop employees would certainly think 'This poor bloke is trying to desperately impress someone, isn't he?'.

Arthur would make Cherry take responsibility if he snapped at anyone during this mission, or worse. It would he her fault 'cos she knew about Arthur's explosive temper (and paranoid mindset) and sent him, nevertheless.

Well, too late to complain now that Arthur was already on his way, on foot mind you because there was one flower shop just a block away. Arthur drove past it every day; it had some French name. He did grumble complaints and curses to himself and dreaded the moment he had to enter the shop. If it had a French name then it might have French employees, and that would just be bloody fan-fucking-tastic. Frogs would be the cherry on top to this absolutely magnificent morning (do note the sarcasm, and pun not intended).

Arthur was angry marching at a rather quick pace and thus, arrived at the shop little too quickly. Arthur glared at the flower arrangements outside, at the windows and then at the sign. He felt the urge to kick something, but Arthur wasn't in the mood to deal with an angry shop-owner and/or the police. Besides, the flowers had done nothing wrong.

Through his irritated haze Arthur noted the arrangements outside actually looked very nice. They weren't overly flamboyant, rather they were simplistically elegant. Especially one arrangement, that had roses as a centrepiece with white lilies framing them. Arthur's eyes locked onto that arrangement and he stepped closer, observing it carefully. Arthur had a good eye for colours and aesthetic, which was why he was a good artist. And whoever had made this arrangement was the same, no doubt. The flowers were in perfect balance and complimented each other while also competing for the viewer's attention.

Arthur was so immersed in the arrangement he didn't hear the front door open. The one who opened it didn't speak up immediately, rather they stood there and looked at Arthur with an amused smile on their face. Only when they spoke up did Arthur snap out of it.

"_Excusez-moi_, dear customer? May I help you?"

Arthur whirled around to stare, or more like glare, at the man that had spoken. But when he did Arthur froze yet again, his mouth hanging open slightly. The man was gorgeous, no other way to put it. He had silky-looking wavy blonde hair, that almost reached his shoulder and fell perfectly around his masterfully sculpted face. He had the brightest cerulean blue eyes Arthur had ever seen, and the trimmed eyebrows over them were raised elegantly in a questioning expression. But Arthur ignored the man's question for a moment more and let his eyes wander lower. He was unashamedly checking the man out, no doubt about it. The man was lean, but under the white apron (how could anyone look that good in an apron?), dress shirt and black jeans it was clear that he was also just the right amount muscular. Arthur felt a twinge of lust, but also jealousy, because he had always been the skinny type no matter how much he worked out.

Arthur probably stared for too long, and the man stifled a chuckle and snapped his fingers in front of Arthur's face. Wait, when had he gotten so close?

"My eyes are up here, _cheri_. Not that I blame you for admiring _moi_."

The man was practically purring, and suddenly Arthur felt incredibly uncomfortable. The man was way too close and to protect his personal space Arthur took quick few steps back. And almost knocked the flower arrangement he had been admiring over. Arthur exclaimed and quickly turned around before it fell. The man had the same idea, and the two men ended up close again as they both supported the arrangement. Arthur stared into the gorgeous man gorgeous eyes for few moments before turning red and taking distance again, holding his hands up in fists like he was about to enter a fight. The gorgeous man laughed (fuck, even his laugh was perfect. Seriously, what the bloody hell was going on?) and put the arrangement back up.

"You have made a very interesting first impression, _mon cher sourcils_. Now, do tell me there is something I can help you with."

Arthur blinked; he had no idea what sourcils meant but the fact that the man was basically calling him "darling" did not help with the blush on his face. Arthur sputtered a bit and glared at the man, who only seemed to get more and more amused.

"I- That- Y-You-…I came to get flowers."

Arthur finally got out after taking a moment to find the right words. They weren't hard words to find, but Arthur wasn't exactly in a stable state of mind at the moment. The man laughed again, and Arthur found himself to be both charmed and annoyed at the sound. Perhaps leaning more towards the annoyed.

"What's so fucking funny, frog?"

The man stopped laughing, and though he still looked amused there was irritation mixed in. Now Arthur felt more comfortable, irritation he could deal with. Being irritated and causing irritation were both his specialties. The guy didn't like being called a frog, huh?

"Oh, it's nothing, _sourcils_. But you are not the only one who comes to a flower shop to get flowers."

Arthur blushed again, this time in embarrassment, and muttered few curses under his breath. This man had the knack of riling Arthur up. Then again it wasn't really all that hard, especially if you happened to be French.

"My name's not whatever that frog word you're using is."

Arthur muttered angrily, loud enough for the man to hear. The man lifted one of his perfect eyebrows (dammit, brain, stop that!) and small amused sneer appeared on his face.

"_Oui bien sur_, how rude of me. I am Francis Bonnefoy, owner of _Jardin d'Eden_. And what may I call you, _dear customer_?"

Francis. Somehow the name fit this perfect frog well. A bit too well. But Arthur could also hear Francis' words dripping with well-hidden sarcasm and contempt, mixed with the ever-present amusement. Looked like the two of them were finally starting to find out just how the two of them should act with each other, and it suited Arthur just fine. He was fluent in sarcasm.

"Just keep calling me that, I won't be around long enough for you to need to know my name, frog."

Arthur sneered too, not bothering to hide his annoyance and sarcasm. Francis couldn't stop a small huff from escaping, but the smile never left his face.

"Very well then, dear customer. What kind of flowers do you need?"

How could Francis make "dear customer" sound like an insult? Arthur needed to learn that trick.

"Just as many different kinds of flowers as possible."

Francis seemed surprised at this but didn't question it (to Arthur's surprise. He had expected to be made fun of). Instead the Frenchman walked past Arthur, brushing up against the Brit and enjoying the slight blush that appeared on his face. Francis opened the door to his shop and kept it open for Arthur to enter. The Brit scoffed but walked in anyway, he may have acted like he acted but he appreciated good manners.

The inside was like a sea of flowers, arranged in a beautiful chaos (just how Arthur liked it). At first glance there seemed to be no order, but when you looked closer you could see there were isles for browsing different flowers, there were different sections for tools and equipment, flowers and all different kinds of plants. And the spot where the cacti were was decorated like a desert, it looked nice. Similar themed decoration style was used in the other parts of the shop as well, it made the establishment look charming. If Arthur did go to flower shops more often, he'd want to go here. If Francis wasn't around, of course.

"Now, if you want various different flowers, I recommend one of our ready-made bouquets. This here is called _Couleur Irisée_ and I believe will suit your needs."

Now that they were talking business Francis shed the sarcasm and took on his charming professional demeanour. He had walked to one of the isles and picked up a bouquet, that was just bursting with colour. It really had almost every kind of flower Arthur knew of and even some he didn't recognize. But the bouquet didn't look messy, the flowers were arranged in a way that yet again followed the pattern of balanced chaos.

Francis noticed Arthur's fascination with the bouquet and smiled slyly, coming a bit closer.

"This bouquet was personally arranged by _moi_. I feel safe to assume, based on your expression, that you like it?"

Arthur's cheeks grew hot and he glared at Francis, crossing his arms. There was no way in hell he was going to admit that the bouquet looked amazing. He would never give Francis that satisfaction.

"I guess it will do. How much?"

Francis wasn't completely satisfied with those words, he had wanted actual praise, but suppose that was all he was going to get from this grumpy Brit. Francis named the price and Arthur's eyes widened, the bouquet was ridiculously overpriced. But…Arthur was using Cherry's credit card. He smiled evilly to himself, this would be a swell revenge.

"I'll take it."

Arthur and Francis didn't exchange many insults after that, just few sarcastic comments here and there as Francis rang Arthur up. Arthur found himself oddly comfortable with this dynamic, usually he felt a bit guilty when he insulted someone, even if it was deserved. But Francis returned the insults with elegance that was almost artful, a complete contrast to Arthur's crude demeanour. And Arthur felt like he wasn't the only one who was enjoying their dynamic. Although Francis seemed annoyed, he also never lost the amused twinkle in his eye. Beautiful cerulean blue eye (if Arthur was going to keep thinking things like that, he felt like he'd need to lobotomize himself…).

"_Merci_ for you patronage. And do come again, _mon cher sourcils_."

Francis purred as Arthur turned to leave the store. His cheeks were red, and he answered the words with a middle finger and a brief glare. Francis' laughter followed him out to the street and remained in Arthur's head all the way back to the tattoo parlour.

"There you are, took you long enough. Wow, that's an awesome looking bunch of flowers."

Cherry commented as soon as Arthur stepped in from the front door. The parlour was empty at the moment and Cherry was manning the counter on her own, looking bored. Though when she looked from the bouquet to Arthur's face she frowned.

"What's up with your face? You look like you're channelling your inner tomato."

Arthur blinked and glanced at the mirror that was hanging on the waiting room wall. His face was still red, and Arthur glared at his own reflection. How could someone he just met have this kind of effect on him? No matter how hot the person was there should've been a limit, right?

"Hell no. Now get this mess of a bouquet away from me, I'll take over the counter."

Cherry shrugged, not planning to further poke the bear. She took the bouquet and took a whiff as she headed to the back. These flowers were going to be used a bit later when she'd teach Arthur how to draw and tattoo flowers.

Arthur took his place at the counter and waited for the heat on his cheeks to die down. But it didn't, because Francis' laughter and words didn't leave his mind. Francis had sounded sincere when asking Arthur to come again.

Arthur found himself wishing, just a little bit, that he actually had a reason to go again…

* * *

**Excusez-moi = Excuse me**

**Cheri = Dear or darling**

**Moi = Me**

**Mon cher sourcils = My dear eyebrows (basically a nickname Francis gave Arthur for obvious reasons XD)**

**Oui bien sur = Well/Yes of course**

**Jardin d'Eden = Garden of Eden**

**Couleur Irisée = Iridescent colour**

**Most of you could probably recognize most of these phrases, but naturally I need to include this list. Also, the characters are as goes: England = Arthur, France = Francis, Prussia = Gilbert, Hungary = Elizaveta. Cherry is my OC and actually based on an old roleplay character of mine. I originally considered making the tattoo parlour owner either Hungary or Belgium, but then decided to enter an OC of mine because I'm quite fond of Cherry :)**

**What are your thoughts on the first chapter? Seem promising? Please leave a review about your comments and/or critique and favourite/follow if you want to keep up with this fic. Thank you for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter is a bit shorter than the first chapter. Like, over 1000 words shorter, give or take. I can't help it, I wrote this story as one massive block of text and when I began dividing it into chapters the word count was uneven. But the pacing goes right like this, and I hope most of you won't mind the inconsistent chapter lengths(right? Please say yes).**

**In any case, here is chapter 2, everyone! I will publish the first three to four chapters really close to each other because like I said earlier, I just wrote a giant block of text and began dividing it into chapters. Now enjoy the continuation!**

**I do not own Hetalia, I only own my own imagination**

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Chapter 2

After 5 days Arthur was happy to notice that the infuriatingly gorgeous frog didn't take as much space in his thoughts anymore. The flowers, after Cherry used them on Monday afternoon to show Arthur the proper way to tattoo a flower, died pretty quickly (partly because Arthur didn't even try to take care of them properly) and after they began wilting around Thursday Francis also began disappearing from Arthur's thoughts. Just the sight of the flowers had made Arthur remember Francis' laughter, and the way the Frenchman had brushed up against him, or even the way he smelled (of lilies. He smelled like lilies). And it had been mortifying.

But now it was Saturday and it was almost 5 o'clock. They had one booking left for the day, the customer hadn't specified a tattoo artist, so the consultation and the tattoo itself (if the person picked a tattoo from their ready-made selection) would probably be done by Cherry or Gilbert. Cherry had Arthur making tattoos too, but the ones made by him were a lot cheaper because he was still learning, and the customers were of course warned about that beforehand.

The desk was being manner by Arthur, but Gilbert was keeping him company. Though the German was more annoying than delightful company and Arthur had told him to shut up multiple times during the last hour. Gilbert didn't shut up, obviously. Gilbert didn't listen to anyone outside his boyfriend, little brother and childhood friend (and he listened to her just because he didn't want to be hit by a frying pan).

"I swear to God and the queen, you git, if you don't shut up I WILL call Liz. And I'll tell her to bring the frying pan."

Gilbert snorted and flipped Arthur the bird (not the one on his head that the German called Gilbird, originally enough).

"Go ahead, but the crazy bitch is on a date with the young master, and I bet if you bother her, she'll use that pan on both you and me."

That did make Arthur pause. He had been on the receiving end of Liz's frying pan before and it was a very unpleasant experience. So Arthur just groaned in an annoyed manner, but with a smirk he suddenly grabbed a pillow from behind the counter (Cherry used it for naps during slow hours) and threw it on Gil's face.

"Use that to muffle yourself, German mutt."

Gilbert growled and glared at Arthur, and he also proceeded to smirk deviously.

"It's Prussian mutt to you, _arschloch_. Gilbird, _AUFLADEN_!"

"Wha- ?! That's not fa- Ouch!"

Suddenly the canary, previously perched on Gil's head, zoomed right at Arthur's face. It started pecking and scratching at his face and Arthur jumped up and tried to shield his face. Gilbird then just proceeded to attack any area with exposed skin and all the while Gilbert cackled on the side.

"Ow, fuck! Stop it, you moronic oaf! Order your bag of feathers off me!"

Arthur exclaimed and tried to flee from the insane canary, running all around the waiting area. It was empty so Arthur had lots of space to attempt to shake the bird.

"Hm? Who, me? Why I'm just a stupid German mutt, how could I have any control over a crazy bag of feathers."

Gil said with a sneer and continued to entertain himself by watching Arthur run around the parlour with Gilbird flying after him. Arthur sounded like a damn Santa's sleigh when his three chains jingled from the excessive movement. But because of Gilbird Arthur didn't see what Gilbert saw, when the front door opened, and a person walked in. And Arthur was headed straight for them, trying to back away from Gilbird. Gilbert tried to warn Arthur, but the Brit had already backed into the man, sending them both toppling down to the floor.

"Gilbird, _kopf_."

Gilbert said and the canary stopped hovering and screeching on top of the two men on the floor and perched itself on Gilbert's head again. Gilbert was still snickering and didn't bother trying to help the men up, preferring to just watch and see where this hilarious situation would go.

"Ow, bloody hell, that bird is batshit crazy…"

Arthur groaned while on his back, he was still out of it and high of adrenaline and hadn't realized he had fallen on someone. He did notice there was something soft and warm under his upper back and head.

"An interesting saying to use when referring to a bird, _non_?"

A familiar sounding voice commented, and Arthur blinked. He tilted his head, so he was basically looking up, and saw a pair of cerulean eyes looking back at him. Amusement was still present in them, just like Arthur remembered it.

"_Bonjour_, _mon cher sourcils_~ Or would you still prefer 'dear customer'?"

Arthur's cheeks turned red, and he quickly scrambled off of Francis while sputtering curses and excuses. Francis got up with almost unfair gracefulness, whereas Arthur jumped up in a quick and clumsy manner. Gilbert snorted and followed the situation with extreme amusement. And curiosity, because he had never seen Arthur like this. He'd seen the man hit on men almost as hot as the French guy and act all cool about it. Though Gilbert did know that people who were smooth and confident were Arthur's kryptonite.

"I- Y-You- Wha- Just why are YOU here, frog?!"

"He's our 5 o'clock, you dunce."

Cherry said from behind Arthur and hit the Brit to the back of the head. Arthur hissed and glared back at Cherry in both annoyance and disbelief. Cherry returned the glare whole-heartedly; Arthur was acting incredibly unprofessional and juvenile for a 24-year-old. But right now, Arthur didn't care.

"This guy? Getting a tattoo here?! You must be pulling my leg!"

"_Non, c'est vrai_. This is one of the best parlours in the city, and closest to me, and I've heard many good things of your work."

Francis said before Cherry could comment. He stepped forward, passing Arthur by (yes, Arthur had been right, the man smelled of lilies), and took Cherry by the hand. Francis pressed a kiss on her knuckles, which made Cherry blink in disbelief and Arthur felt a small twinge on…irritation? Anger? Whatever it was it didn't feel right, it made Arthur's stomach and chest tighten painfully. He must've been annoyed by the way Francis treated Cherry; he'd always disliked overly flirty guys and skirt-chasers.

"_Enchante, mademoiselle_. You must be Cherry. You are truly a beauty."

Francis purred with a seductive voice, and Arthur's brow furrowed in irritation. But Cherry just laughed and took her hand out of Francis' loose grip. He was so far from her type that he could've been in another universe, and Cherry was a married woman and a mother. Besides, Cherry could see how Francis was glancing at Arthur from the corner of his eye, trying to get a reaction out of the Brit. She clearly wasn't the focus here.

"Welcome to Body Art Parlour then. Mr. Bonnefoy, was it? Follow me, we'll have your consultation in this side room here."

"Oh please, _cheri_. Call me Francis."

"Sure. Francis, follow me. And you two idiots, clean up this place."

Cherry threw a stern look at Arthur and Gilbert, who now took a look around the waiting room. While trying to escape Gilbird Arthur had accidentally scattered some pillows and magazines, a coffee table and the pitcher with water in it had fallen over.

"Wha-? Why me too?! Arthur was the one- "

"Gilbert, do it or you're fired."

And with that Cherry closed the door to the side room, cutting off Francis' laughter (dammit, it still sounded to perfect). Arthur groaned and threw Gilbert a look of 'look at what you did'.

"Oh, shut up Arthur. Let's just get this over with."

Gilbert growled and in silence the two men began cleaning up the mess. Arthur tried not to think of Francis, just behind that thin door, laughing in that annoyingly perfect way and smiling at Cherry. Arthur knew Cherry would never go for Francis, but still Arthur couldn't help but feel…anxious?

"Fuck, that frog will be the death of me…"

Arthur muttered to himself as he was wiping away the water from the floor. Because Arthur had a feeling that now that he had met Francis for the second time the Frenchman wouldn't leave his thoughts so easily.

* * *

"I must admit, _cheri_, it was a very nice surprise to see you here."

It was almost 5:30pm, and Gilbert had gone home the moment he and Arthur had finished cleaning. Arthur was still by the desk, he had still had some stuff to do (he was definitely not stalling, dammit!). He had been focused on that stuff, so when the Frenchman's voice could suddenly be heard from right by Arthur's ear the Brit jumped and almost yelped. Francis laughed, he was leaning on the counter and was indeed very close to Arthur. The Brit took a step back, his cheeks felt hot, but he was eyeing the Frenchman with suspicion. Francis returned the look with amused nonchalance and looked very good while doing it.

"Oh really? Well, I'm here feeling like the universe is messing with me by throwing frogs at me."

Arthur shot back with half-hearted aggression, and Francis chuckled. Arthur felt his defences come down slightly at the sight of Francis looking so relaxed, and his words sounded sincere. So, Arthur couldn't bring himself to truly insult the man. Without noticing Arthur assumed his previous position not too far away from Francis. The Frenchman noticed, and his eyes twinkled.

"My, my, so you think our reunion is fate?"

Francis purred, and leaned forward slightly. Arthur blushed, and as Francis leaned forward, he leaned back. But not as far as he could've; Francis' eyes were drawing him in.

"Wh- No, you stupid wanker! Just an unpleasant coincidence! You said it yourself, our place is good and close to you."

Arthur grumbled and wondered why he felt peeved. As if he wanted their meeting to be fated. No, that was absolutely preposterous and made no sense whatsoever.

"Hmm, you sound displeased, _cher_. I wonder why~?"

Francis sounded the very opposite of displeased, Arthur was giving him such nice reactions. Francis had been fascinated by this rather rude but cute punk Brit from the very moment he had seen him in front of the flower shop. And Francis had a feeling that now, when the Brit was clearly letting down his guard, he could get the punk to tell the Frenchman his name and possibly phone number. And maybe even his home address, because Francis was also fascinated to see if those tight pants contained what they advertised (which was a very nice-looking ass):

"I just told you why, because of this bloody coincidence. Why do you want a tattoo anyway? You don't seem the type."

There it was. Francis had been expecting this question. He tried not to let his smile deflate, but the story behind his tattoo was a sensitive one so Francis couldn't help but frown slightly. Arthur noticed, and reprimanded himself a bit. He should've known that the reason would be sensitive, it often was with many customers. People often got tattoos to honour dead pets, relatives or friends.

"You know what, nevermi- "

"I'll tell you if you tell me your name."

Francis said before Arthur could finish, and the Brit eyed the man incredulously. But Francis' face was serious, like he really wanted to know Arthur's name. Arthur was very tempted, because he was a curious creature, and for some reason he really wanted to know more about Francis. So, he gave in with a sigh.

"Fine. It's Arthur. Arthur Kirkland."

Arthur said, and Francis smiled.

"Arthur."

Francis said, as if trying out the feel and taste of Arthur's name, and the way the Frenchman said it with his accent and nearly sultry voice made the Brit blush. Arthur shifted on the stool he was sitting on and thanked the God that his lower half was hidden behind the counter. Because just hearing his first name with that kind of tone from Francis in this mood had given him a slight hard-on. Shit, Arthur regretted he hadn't met Francis in a different kind on environment and situation, because if they had met in a club Arthur could've taken Francis home (or vice versa) and fucked the man.

"Well then, Arthur, I will uphold my part of the agreement. My tattoo is for- "

But now it was Arthur's turn to cut Francis off, and he did it by putting his hand on the Frenchman's mouth. Francis looked surprised, whereas Arthur looked determined and slightly peeved.

"Don't bother. I'm not interested in hearing a sob story, or seeing a frog make a mopey expression. And don't deny it, it's obvious from your face it's going to be sad."

Francis blinked in surprise; he hadn't been aware that Arthur was capable of such feats of perceptiveness. Because he was right, it was a sad story, one that Francis wasn't entirely keen on sharing. Francis realized that despite Arthur sounding rude about it this was the Brit's form of kindness. Francis smiled under Arthur's hand. He took a hold of the Brit's hand and pressed a kiss against his knuckles. But unlike earlier with Cherry this kiss lingered, and Francis then pressed another one on Arthur's wrist. And his cerulean eyes never left Arthur's emerald. For a moment both men were entranced by each other's eyes.

Arthur was the first one to break the spell. He blushed furiously and yanked his hand back, holding it against his chest in a fist. How was it that a kiss on the hand had felt as intimate as a genuine kiss on the lips?

Arthur was too shocked and flustered to say anything, so it was up to Francis to break the awkward silence. The Frenchman reached out and traced a finger along Arthur's jawline, pulling it back before Arthur could recoil or otherwise protest.

"_Bonne nuit, mon cher sourcils_. I will see you again."

He purred with a quiet voice, like he was whispering sweet nothings, and walked away with a small spring in his step. This had been a good day.

Arthur stared after Francis, and after a minute or two of processing what had just happened the punk's head thudded against the counter. He definitely had a hard-on now. What was he, a high schooler?! People had put much more aggressive moves on him before and his little brother hadn't even twitched.

But then again, Francis had more than proved that he was unlike anyone Arthur had ever met before.

"Don't fall asleep here, Arthur. I need to close up."

Cherry appeared like out of thin air and made Arthur jump. She looked at Arthur with an amused expression and spun around the parlour keys on her finger. Arthur wanted to do nothing more but leave, but he still had his hard-on situation to deal with.

"I still want to sketch some more. I can focus better here. Give me the keys, I'll close up."

Cherry's eyebrows rose in surprise, but she wasn't about to turn down the offer. This meant she could go home early to her man and 2-year-old. Cherry handed the keys to Arthur, said good night and left. Arthur did try to sketch as he had said, but nothing came of it. Francis was the only thing Arthur could focus on right now.

Arthur took care of himself in the bathroom, twice, and then finally left around 7:45pm. At home, in his bed, Arthur finally thought he'd be free of Francis in his dreams. But no, the Frenchman occupied his subconscious as well, and on Sunday morning when Arthur woke up his first thought was Francis.

Fuck, Arthur really was in deep shit now…

* * *

**Arschloch = Asshole**

**Aufladen = Attack/Charge**

**Kopf = Head(in other words, Gilbert told Gilbird to return to go back on his head)**

**Non, c'est vrai = No, it is true**

**Our two heroes are getting closer and closer, and in the next chapter they get extra close, if ya know what I mean *wink wink, nudge nudge*. Honestly though, this was very fun to write, I love it whenever Arthur acts all grumpy and tsundere XD Especially when he does it when he's punk.**

**Please do leave a review, I really enjoy them, and favourite/follow if you want to keep up with this fic!**


	3. Chapter 3

**The word count differences between the chapters are ridiculous, I know. Please bear with me, after this I'm writing with my gut and will try to regulate the lengths better. So, enjoy this extra long chapter, and I will see you in few days or whenever I get the next chapter out.**

**WARNING! This chapter contains semi-detailed smut, so if you wish you can skip it, it's at the end of the chapter. There is sexual tension all throughout the chapter though. You have been warned.**

**I do not own Hetalia, I only own my own imagination**

* * *

Chapter 3

It turned out Francis had requested a tattoo, and he was scheduled to come back a week later to get it done. And the next Monday after the Saturday Cherry revealed that Francis had requested for Arthur to make the tattoo. Arthur was both surprised and not surprised by this. Not surprised in the sense that Arthur figured Francis would like to keep messing with him. And surprised in the sense that Francis was willing to let Arthur make the tattoo, that would forever be the symbol of his loss. The thought intimidated Arthur, but he also wanted to prove his skills and make Francis thank him on his knees for gracing him with such an amazing tattoo. And maybe there was something else Francis could do for Arthur while on his knees as well…

Cherry showed the design to Arthur after she was finished with it, and the Brit came to the conclusion that the tattoo would look great on the Frenchman. The tattoo was a lily. Not just the flower part, but the stem, leaves and even the roots with some soil crumbs as well. The lily was slightly crooked, like it had been ripped from the ground violently, but the flower still looked beautiful and vibrant. It was beautiful, as expected of Cherry, and after seeing it Arthur began practicing eagerly. He drew a lily after lily until he was sure he could make Cherry's design justice.

Arthur didn't see Francis until after a week. He had been tempted to go to the flower shop a few times when driving past it in the mornings, but Arthur hadn't wanted to give Francis the satisfaction. The Frenchman would've just writhed in the pleasure of being the one who was sought out first.

So, Arthur stubbornly waited for 7 days. 7 days of Francis-filled thoughts and dreams, obsessing over the Frenchman's tattoo and wanting to make it perfect. And by Friday Arthur had thoroughly realized that he was pining. Oh fuck, he had fallen for that frog. At least physically fallen, Arthur could still say nothing about the emotional side. But just lusting after the Frenchman was bad enough. Well, at least Arthur could say Francis probably lusted after him as well, judging by how he had treated the Brit. If they were lusting for one another Arthur might be able to fulfil his fantasy of having Francis fuck his brains out (or Arthur fucking Francis' brains out, whichever the frog preferred). Arthur would just have to see on Saturday.

Saturday arrived, and Francis' appointment was at 3 o'clock. Arthur's shift started at 12, but instead of sleeping late like a normal person Arthur woke up at 8am and spent the morning mulling over various things. Mostly whether he would be able to make the tattoo properly or not. Arthur was a bit of a perfectionist, but especially in this case he was concerned. Because, even though Arthur didn't want to admit it, Francis was special. Arthur wanted to impress him, wanted Francis to be content with the tattoo.

By the time Arthur arrived at work he was a nervous wreck. He had one appointment before Francis' at 1pm for a teenage girl, who had gotten her parents' permission to get a tattoo for her 18th birthday. It was a simple small image of a flying crow carrying an olive branch (designed by Arthur himself), and as Arthur got to work the girl explained the story behind the tattoo. The girl wasn't otherwise into tattoos, but her aunt had been into them and occult and goth style, but also peace activism, and the aunt had even had a pet crow. But the aunt had died from breast cancer just few months before the girl's 18th birthday, and the girl had quickly changed all her birthday wishes into this one wish. She wanted to honour her favourite aunt and her lifestyle and work with this tattoo. As Arthur listened, he found himself more relaxed, even though the girl had begun crying silently as she told the story. Arthur didn't say any words of comfort, he had noticed that it was always better to just let the customers cry it out. Besides, Arthur was a clumsy comforter anyway.

The image was done after under an hour and the girl absolutely loved it. She even hugged Arthur, and he returned the hug awkwardly. Cherry, who had been observing both the tattooing process and the aftermath, gave Arthur a thumbs up from behind the girl's back. Arthur smiled a little, and with few pats on the girl's shoulder he stepped away.

"Make your aunt proud, lass."

Arthur said with that small smile still on his face. The girl smiled widely and nodded, and Arthur was relieved he had found the right words. Arthur gave the girl the instructions on how to treat the tattoo and after she was out the door Cherry gave Arthur's shoulder a pat.

"You aren't the most social tattoo artist, but seems like you've got your own style down well. I don't think I need to monitor your tattooing anymore."

Arthur looked at Cherry with surprise, and the woman grinned at him. He grinned back; this was great news! Arthur had never enjoyed having Cherry breathing down his neck during appointments. But then something dawned on Arthur, and the grin slowly fell away.

"Does this include the Bonnefoy appointment today?"

Cherry nodded, she was convinced that Arthur would be able to handle himself (and she really didn't want to see what the two men might get up to when in a rather small room alone). Arthur's expression was undecipherable; he wasn't sure what to think. He was happy to have his own space and peace to work, but then again he would have to share that space with Francis. Who would probably be without a shirt (or worse, pants). And that thought made Arthur both worried and…excited.

"Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Good luck, Arthur."

Cherry suddenly said, leaving Arthur's side to talk to a customer by the desk, and Arthur looked at where she had been looking at. Francis walked through the front door, looking more like an angel than a devil. And the moment his eyes met Arthur's the Frenchman smiled and made his way to the Brit, immediately giving Arthur's hand a kiss.

"_Bonjour cheri, _I've missed you."

A shiver travelled up and down Arthur's spine when he heard Francis' tone and saw the look on his eyes, and suddenly all the dreams he had had throughout this week sprang to his mind. But Arthur pushed them back immediately and yanked his hand back, giving Francis a glare.

"Missed messing with me, I'm sure. I sure as hell didn't miss you, frog."

Arthur spat, a bit too much bite to his words considering Arthur was supposed to find out if Francis wanted to fuck or not. But Francis wasn't deterred, although there was a small amount of hurt in his eyes. The Frenchman smiled charmingly and brought his hand up to very lightly caress Arthur's chin.

"Messing with you, flirting with you, looking at you, being with you. I've missed it everything."

Francis purred, making Arthur blush. Francis was way too fucking good at this! Arthur slapped Francis' hand away and briskly walked over to the door that lead to the room where they made the tattoos. He opened it and held it open for Francis.

"Come this way, and let's get this over with."

Arthur internally cringed, he had sounded way too rude. But something in Francis' demeanour made him act defensive. Perhaps all the pent-up frustration, sexual and otherwise, was now manifesting in a way Arthur had not intended.

Francis frowned slightly but followed Arthur and walked into the room. Arthur came in after and closed the door behind him. Somehow the mood changed the moment the two men were alone in this relatively small closed space. The air felt heavier and warmer, and Arthur got visibly more flustered as he walked over to the small desk in the corner.

"Um, please take a seat."

Arthur said, gesturing to the chair that was in the middle of the room. It was similar to a dentist's chair, but it was black leather, a lot comfier and didn't have any scary machinery attached to it. Francis looked over at Arthur curiously, but sat down and made himself comfortable. He had noticed the subtle change in both the mood and Arthur and was excited to see how he could use it to his advantage.

"So, where were you planning on getting the tattoo?"

Francis almost wanted to answer that he wanted it on his thigh or ass or some other place as provocative, but quickly decided against it. He had a place thought up and the tattoo was just the right size and style for it. Besides, he'd take his shirt off nevertheless. The thought made Francis smile.

"The side of my upper left arm, _s'il vous plait_."

Francis said, keeping his tone low and slightly suggestive, and Arthur nodded. He stood up and walked over to the chair, holding the sheet on which Francis' tattoo outline was printed. It was ready to be applied on skin. Now there was just one thing left to do, the words both men were waiting for.

"Then take off your shirt, please."

Francis gave Arthur a slow smile that didn't hide his impure feelings in the least and without saying a word proceeded to unbutton his shirt. He did it slowly on purpose, and Arthur knew it. Because what Francis intended with it was working. Arthur wanted to straddle the man on the chair and rip open the shirt himself, so hard the buttons would go flying. And Arthur was sure Francis would greatly enjoy it. Which was why Arthur didn't do it, and because he was working. Sex could be done outside work. At least now Arthur was fairly certain Francis wanted what he wanted.

Francis shrugged off his shirt and unashamedly gave Arthur a good look of his bare torso. It was a really nice sight indeed, Arthur wanted to feel the Frenchman's pecs, biceps and abs so badly he had to hold his hands back. Which he in a way failed at, because Arthur then proceeded to wipe the area where the tattoo outline would be applied. Francis made a point of letting out a slight sigh when Arthur's hands made contact with his skin, and the Brit's skin crawled from lust. Fuck, this frog would really be the end of him…

"Does this look good?"

Arthur asked, and showed through a mirror how the tattoo outline looked on Francis' skin once he had applied it. The Frenchman observed the tattoo, he thought it looked very good right where it was. But when he answered the question Francis' eyes were roaming Arthur and not the mirror. His voice was dripping with sex.

"Yes, looks very good."

Yep, if Arthur didn't get to work right fucking now, he would definitely jump the frog. So, quickly, Arthur nodded, grabbed the tattoo gun and prepared it with swift, practiced movements. Soon enough it and Arthur's hands were sterile, and the Brit could get to work.

"This will sting, so don't start crying on me, frog."

Francis chuckled and opened his mouth to offer a smart, flirtatious retort. But all that came out was a hiss of pain when Arthur pressed the needle against his skin. Arthur grinned deviously and continued on with his work. At least Francis could keep his arm in place, and now that Arthur was focused on the process his eyes didn't wander towards Francis' bare chest. The Frenchman also noticed Arthur's concentration; the Brit had proven to be the type to get very immersed in whatever he was doing. The sight of Arthur concentrating with a cute small frown on his face made Francis smile despite the pain, and he let the man be. Occasionally Francis would hiss from pain or otherwise show his discomfort and Arthur would tease him, and the pair would exchange some flirtatious bickering. But overall the room was quiet aside from the buzz of the tattoo gun, and both Arthur and Francis were content with that.

The process lasted almost three hours, mostly because Arthur had wanted to take his time and the tattoo was quite big. But in the end, it turned out great, and Francis expressed it openly. He marvelled at the work of art on his skin and praised Arthur's skill, and although the Frenchman wasn't on his knees this would do quite nicely.

"Well, this level of skill is to be expected from an artist of Body Art Parlour. Don't forget to spread the word."

Arthur said with a slightly cocky grin, and Francis laughed.

"_Oui_, I will surely do that. Frogs are quite social beings."

Francis retorted and winked at Arthur, using the rather rude nickname for comedic purposes. Arthur laughed, and the sound was very delightful for Francis' ears. It was the first time he had heard it. Francis joined in, and the two men shared a pleasant moment of amicable amusement. The laughter seized moments later, and the mood afterwards was so light and easy Arthur did something very uncharacteristic. He stepped close to Francis and pulled him into a kiss by the shoulders. Francis was surprised for a moment and blinked but refused to let this opportunity slide by. He eagerly answered the kiss, quickly taking the dominant role. One of his hands snaked its way into Arthur's back pocket and he pulled the Brit's waist against his firmly. The other hand was buried in Arthur's green locks, and with a slight tug Francis made Arthur's head tip and pulled out a quiet groan from the man. That sound was even more delightful than Arthur's laughter, and Francis definitely wanted to hear more.

Arthur had been right in assuming that Francis would be bloody brilliant at snogging. The kiss had turned hot and heavy and Arthur's hands were finally exploring Francis' bare torso. Just like he had wanted for over three hours now. One of Arthur's hand made their acquaintance with Francis' hair, it was so damn silky Arthur could barely get a hold of it. But he did and returned the tug from just now. Francis also let out a groan that was almost a growl, and Arthur sneered against Francis' lips. There was only one direction this could go, and Arthur was more than willing to let the situation proceed.

Arthur and Francis' tongues were intertwined and battling for dominance, and Arthur was pushing his pelvis against Francis'. Both of their trousers were getting kind of tight, but Arthur wasn't about to have sex here. His shift had already ended though, and he was definitely intending to have sex tonight. For now, Arthur was just going to enjoy some more foreplay.

Arthur yanked Francis backwards by his hair, and without their lips or bodies separating for more than few seconds Arthur fell back on the chair and took Francis with him. The Frenchman chuckled against Arthur's lips and moved down to suck on Arthur's neck for a while.

"Your parlour offers excellent customer service."

Francis purred and bit onto Arthur's shoulder, not hard enough to leave lasting marks but definitely hard enough to make Arthur groan from pleasure.

"I dare you to try and do this with Gilbert. You'll get your ass kicked for free."

Arthur answered with a short, breathless laugh. Francis joined in, and then quieted both their laughs by giving Arthur another deep, passionate kiss.

"From the start I never wanted anyone but you."

Francis answered, his voice heavy from desire, and those words made a shiver travel through Arthur's body. Damn, this frog knew just what to say. Arthur roughly pulled Francis down into a kiss, that was almost animal-like, and Francis seemed to very much like that. He was rubbing their hips together, and every time the bulges on the fronts of their pants made contact both men groaned and moaned into each other's mouths.

Arthur's hands began to wander down from Francis' shoulders and along his arms, but he stopped when Francis hissed a bit from pain. Arthur had accidentally touched Francis' still tender tattoo. That was a good wake-up call and Arthur pulled away slightly, staring up at panting Francis above him.

"Would you look at that. I kissed the frog but it's still just a frog."

That line made Francis laugh, and Arthur soon joined in. The humour was just what they needed to momentarily ease the intense lust between them. Francis let his head sink and pressed their foreheads together, which made Arthur blush. He wasn't sure what to think about this intimacy, but…it wasn't unpleasant.

"I'll take you to my place. It's close, I live above my shop."

Francis said, leaving no room to objections. Arthur frowned, he wanted to object purely because he didn't like being ordered around. But he couldn't remember if he had lube back at his place, and he was so horny that a back alley would've been fine with him at this point.

"Sure, but I'll drive us there."

Arthur said in turn, and he didn't leave room for objections either. Francis raised one of his brows but didn't object, since he was in the same mindset as Arthur. Besides, if Arthur didn't drive them there quickly, he would just jump Francis on the way there and actually fuck him in an alley.

Francis swiftly made himself look decent, or as decent as was currently possible, and so did Arthur. He led Francis out from the back door, and the two exchanged couple of steamy kisses on the way to Arthur's motorcycle. Francis, when he saw the metal beast, looked at Arthur with hesitation. The Brit just grinned and tossed Francis the spare helmet he kept under the seat.

"Don't tell me you're going to let one short motorcycle ride stop you from finishing what we started?"

That was an excellent point, and Francis implied as much by giving Arthur a deep kiss that made the Brit moan. Then he proceeded to jump in the saddle and Arthur followed in suit. Arthur brought his beloved bike to life, and it roared under them as Arthur drove her down the street. Francis had to admit, there was something sexy about the motorcycle, and that something upheld his lust towards the man sitting in front of him. Arthur could feel Francis' erection on his back, and the Brit unconsciously sped up.

* * *

In just few short minutes they were in front of Francis' shop. Arthur barely had the patience to park his bike before he tore off his helmet, waited for Francis to do the same and crushed their lips together. That ride had only made the pair hornier, and they stumbled up the stairs on the side of the building. Francis, all the while kissing Arthur and having the Brit undo his shirt buttons, fumbled with his keys and inserted them in the lock. The door flew open and just as quickly flew shut, when Francis pressed Arthur against it. The Frenchman had grabbed a handful of Arthur's ass and even through the trousers he could feel it was just as nice as it looked. Arthur grinned and did the same to Francis, having exactly the same thoughts.

"If you don't get out of your pants in less than two minutes, I swear I'm going to break something. And I can't promise it won't be you."

Arthur basically growled, fumbling with Francis' zipper. The Frenchman chuckled and planted a trail of kisses down Arthur's jawline and neck, undoing Arthur's zipper at the same time.

"After we're done you might be the one broken, _cheri_."

Francis said with a sultry voice and without a warning, hoisted Arthur up by the ass. Arthur instinctively wrapped his legs around Francis' waist and let out a small surprised yelp. He glared down at Francis, who just looked up at his British lover with a slightly smug smile on his face.

"I'd like to see you try, frog."

And try Francis did. He effortlessly (well, it did take some effort) carried Arthur over to his bed, and while he did Francis assaulted Arthur's neck with kisses and light bites. It was driving Arthur insane, and the moment Francis plopped down on the bed and pinned the Brit under himself Arthur's hands got back to work.

Francis gladly let Arthur yank his pants off, and the Frenchman assisted by standing up for a moment and getting out of his clothes himself. While he did that Arthur quickly kicked off his own pants and did the same to his top. Both men were now just in their boxers, and in Francis' flat's dim light the two took a second to take each other in.

Francis looked just as perfect as Arthur had fantasized, it was almost unreal. The colour of the setting sun showed off his balanced muscle mass perfectly, and the hair framing the Frenchman's face looked almost golden. Arthur was still horny as well, but his thoughts also took a moment to appreciate the aesthetic beauty of this man before him.

Francis very much liked the way Arthur was looking at him, it was lustful but also strangely vulnerable. Francis couldn't imagine that Arthur was in any way shy in bed and had probably slept with other people, but the look on the man's face made Francis almost feel like the Brit was giving himself to Francis for the first time. And Francis would gladly take him, because Arthur had both an amusing personality and a good body. Arthur wasn't muscular in the traditional way; he was more on the sinewy side but not skinny. He had slender limbs and his body fit against Francis' perfectly. And his face was charming, Francis bet it would even more so without the makeup, and those deep emerald eyes pulled Francis in.

Francis' gaze was intense, and it made Arthur blush. The blush spread down his neck and shoulders, and Francis smiled. He now proceeded more slowly, unlike the lustful scrambling from earlier. Francis wasn't a fan of that anyway, he wanted to make love rather than fuck and Arthur would have to deal with that.

Francis climbed on top of Arthur and leaned down to kiss the areas that were now flushed. Arthur's shoulders and neck were already filled with love bites, and Francis added some more as he lavished Arthur's upper body with attention. Arthur, who had noticed the shift in mood, suddenly felt a whole lot more embarrassed and felt the urge to shy away. That was ridiculous, this situation was purely physical. But when Francis' hands stroked the skin on Arthur's sides and hips almost lovingly it felt so…personal, so intimate. And that alone made the touches feel better.

Arthur sighed and moaned and returned the strokes he was receiving by letting his hands roam in Francis' hair and on his shoulders and arms (avoiding the tattoo this time). Francis let out appreciative moans, which encouraged Arthur to keep going. But soon he couldn't reach Francis' shoulders anymore, because the Frenchman had moved too low and was now kissing Arthur's abdomen. Almost painfully slowly Francis slipped his fingers under Arthur's boxers' waistband, and Arthur let his head fall back and hips rise, when Francis brushed against his erection. In a moment of impatience Francis yanked Arthur's boxers off, and the Brit gasped when his erection was released.

"Bloody hell. Francis, just…get on..with it."

Arthur panted, and looked down at Francis with an impatient scowl. Francis smiled slowly and did almost the exact opposite. He teased Arthur by taking his time kissing his inner thighs and lower stomach, his mouth was very close but not quite where Arthur wanted it. Arthur wanted to complain, but he was too busy groaning and gasping whenever Francis hit a spot that sent a jolt through his body.

"Fuck, Francis, yo- Ah!"

Arthur began, but that was the moment when Francis finally took Arthur in his mouth. Arthur's complaint turned into a loud moan, and Francis wanted to desperately hear more. He began to expertly work on Arthur's cock, and the Brit was certain he was just receiving the best blowjob of his whole damn life. So, Arthur gave Francis a lot more to hear, as he lost himself in the pleasure. Moan after moan escaped Arthur's lips and it didn't take Francis long to drive the Brit over the edge. With an exclaim Arthur squeezed Francis' hair into his fists, trying not to push the Frenchman's head down unnecessarily but it was hard when Arthur came so hard he almost blacked out. Francis, who had been able to avoid getting Arthur's semen in his mouth, was very pleased with himself as he watched the panting Brit coming down from his high. Francis crawled up and captured Arthur's lips in a deep kiss, that ignited Arthur's lust yet again. Besides, he wasn't into one-sided pleasure and Francis hadn't gotten his release yet.

Arthur raised a brow at Francis when the Frenchman finished the kiss and scoffed a bit.

"Getting kissed by the mouth that just sucked me off. What a turn-on."

It was clear sarcasm, and it made Francis laugh. Arthur smirked a bit and interrupted that laugh by reaching down and stroking Francis' erection with experienced touch. The Frenchman gasped and bit his lip, bucking into Arthur's hand. Now it was Arthur's turn to feel pleased, and he reached up and bit down on Francis' earlobe.

"Lube and condoms?"

Francis didn't bother answering. Without moving he reached and opened the drawer in his nightstand, pulling out a small bottle of lube and condoms that fit him. Arthur absently noted they wore the same size.

"You can get the first go. You did just suck me off."

Francis chuckled and nodded, understanding what Arthur meant. He went ahead and squirted some lube into his hands. And as he began stroking Arthur's entrance with a touch as experienced, or more, as Arthur's Francis yet again gave Arthur's chest and nipples some attention. Arthur writhed under Francis in more pleasure than he had felt in a long time and when the first finger entered, he didn't fight it. Arthur had really begun to want this, even though this was very different from how he usually had sex. Usually his partners weren't this attentive, and Arthur had thought that was how he liked it. Apparently, he had needed to meet Francis Bonnefoy to realize that this kind of sex was infinitely better.

The second finger entered, and Arthur groaned in a mix of discomfort and pleasure. It was always like this at first, and Arthur just let himself get used to the feeling. Because it would feel pretty damn good later in.

"_Tu es unique, mon cher sourcils_."

Francis murmured against Arthur's neck, which he had been biting and sucking, and Arthur had no idea what he was saying. And he didn't care either, because just hearing Francis speak in his native language now was such a turn-on and Arthur gave a loud moan, as the third finger entered.

"I do..n't speak- Ah! Frog."

Arthur commented, mostly out of principle, and Francis smirked. He gave Arthur a deep kiss and at the same time thrust into the Brit with all three fingers, making Arthur groan against the Frenchman's lips. Arthur was pushing down on Francis' fingers, and the Brit have the man's silky locks a firm tug.

"Just put it in, or I'll go crazy."

Arthur demanded, and Francis was more than happy to oblige. He slipped on a condom and positioned himself properly, looking down at Arthur with a look so intense Arthur could feel his cheeks heat up under it.

"_Comme vous le souhaitez_."

And with that Francis thrust into Arthur, and the Frenchman watched Arthur's expression. He revelled in seeing what kind of face Arthur made the moment he entered, and Francis was not disappointed. Arthur's mouth formed a perfect 'o', and he threw his head back as a deep groan escaped his lips. Francis smirked, and began to move with slow but strong thrusts. Arthur almost couldn't handle it; Francis was doing everything right and Arthur instinctively moved in sync with the man. Arthur wrapped his legs around the Frenchman's waist and his arms around his neck, and Arthur's moans were yet again muffled by Francis' mouth on his. The Frenchman was almost as loud, he felt amazing and Arthur offered the perfect amount of pressure. Their bodies were extremely compatible, and Francis couldn't remember when he had felt this good the last time. He had also had genuinely fun during this time with Arthur, which was a rarity for Francis. He liked being a giver and an attentive lover, but he rarely genuinely laughed during sex. Arthur just had a strange effect on him.

That effect included making Francis feel absolutely amazing, and soon the Frenchman's hips were moving at a faster pace. Arthur urged him on, exclaiming "harder" and "faster" here and there when he wasn't panting or moaning. Francis didn't need to be told twice, and Arthur was pounded into the mattress as they were both overcome by carnal desire and the heat of the moment. Arthur was the one to finish first with a yell, that might've been Francis' name, and Francis came soon after with a grunt and a moan. In a stereotypical manner Francis collapsed on top of Arthur, and they were both heaving as if they just ran a marathon.

For a while they just lay there, both feeling the other's chest rise and fall against theirs. Their pulses were pounding in almost the same rhythm, and Arthur experienced a surreal moment of…peace. An afterglow unlike any he had ever had. It was almost scary, and he did get the urge to shove Francis off and run out this apartment as quickly as possible. It was dangerous to let himself be this vulnerable. But right now, Arthur was just too tired, he could get his defences back up easily enough later. Right now he just felt sleepy, and when he glanced at the clock on the nightstand it read 7:30pm. Way too early to sleep, it was time for-

Before Arthur could finish that thought his stomach rumbled, and his cheeks immediately went up in flames. Francis laughed and lifted himself up, looking down at Arthur with a strange fondness in his eyes.

"What do you say we shower, and then I will feed you and we can go again?"

Arthur had no objections and be showed it with a simple nod. His cheeks were still red from embarrassment though, and Francis leaned down to give on of them a kiss. Arthur shoved Francis off of him and the Frenchman laughed, traipsing on over towards the washroom. Arthur followed after him, grumbling "the food better not be snails or some other frog food like that" under his breath.

To Arthur's surprise their night together was surprisingly comfortable, the two of them exchanging insults and even some (mostly) normal banter. And when their stomachs were full they resumed the sex and this time it was Arthur's turn to top.

* * *

**S'il vous plait = Please**

**Tu es unique = You are one of a kind**

**Comme vous le souhaitez = As you wish**

**I'm not that confident in my humour writing or casual dialogue, to be honest. I hope the banter between Francis and Arthur doesn't feel forced or weird. I tried my best to make it feel natural, like it's something they both would say. I really enjoy the bickering between this couple, and I think it's an essential part of who they are, so I want to get it right.**

**Please leave a review and tell me how I did, and favourite/follow to keep up with the fic!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Here is chapter 4, writing it took longer than I thought 'cos I wasn't sure if I wanted to include the things I did. But for better or worse here it is, and there might be slight OOC towards the end, but I tried to give it a valid reason. All in all my version of Punk!England is a bit closer to normal England than normally, I think, but this is how I see him. I can't help but write him as he is.**

**I do not own Hetalia, I only own my own imagination**

* * *

Chapter 4

The next Sunday morning was quite surreal for Arthur, even more so than last night. Because he actually stayed over at the houses of the ones he had slept with. That usually meant nothing but trouble, and Arthur always tried to make himself disappear before the sun rose. So, it was alien when Arthur woke up with Francis' arms around him, with Arthur being the little spoon. Arthur wasn't a cuddly person and this position was embarrassing, but it felt kind of nice. Though Arthur would never admit that. As for what had woken him up, Francis was fiddling with his hair. Arthur frowned to himself, still drowsy, and turned his head so he could look at Francis incredulously.

"What are you doing, frog?"

Francis hummed a bit in thought, still fiddling with Arthur's hair. He was shamelessly using this situation to his advantage, when Arthur was still less aggressive and prickly. Francis had seen Arthur's hair roots, and they fascinated him.

"I didn't realize your hair is originally blonde, _cheri_. Especially since you have dark eyebrows, along with some other areas."

Francis stated casually and teasingly, making Arthur blink in confusion and flush slightly in shame. Arthur's face was lacking the usual scowl and tenseness and Francis thought it looked quite endearing. Sleepy Arthur was adorable. The Frenchman pressed a chaste kiss on Arthur's lips and moved his hand from Arthur's hair to his cheek, stroking it lightly.

"Good morning, Arthur. I hope you had a good rest."

Arthur blinked some more and as the haze of sleep cleared up, he suddenly became very aware of the intimacy of this moment and Francis' body pressed against his. Arthur had put on boxers last night before falling asleep (he didn't enjoy sleeping naked), but Francis was still in his birthday suit. This wasn't something the Brit was used to, and the unfamiliar feeling in his chest made Arthur wary. Arthur swallowed and scooted away in a not-so-subtle manner, throwing off the covers and standing up. Well, trying to stand up. Arthur had to support himself against the wall because his hips and legs were very weak and felt like limp noodles.

"Having trouble? Shall I carry you, _mon amour_?"

Francis teased and proceeded to stand up as well, swiftly making the bed as was his routine. He didn't bother covering himself up, and that made Arthur both flustered (although he tried to be subtle about it) and get irritated at the Frenchman. Last night had been veiled in a lustful haze, but now the morning sun was waking up both Arthur's common sense and cynicism.

"Don't bother. Doubt you'd even be able to lift me with feeble arms like those."

Arthur wasn't kidding anyone; Francis' arms weren't anywhere near feeble. But even though both of them knew that Francis' brow twitched in irritation, and there was a small smile on his face. Arthur had a bad feeling as Francis walked around the bed and towards Arthur, a scheming look in his eyes.

"Ohoho~? Is that so? Well, I cannot just let that statement slide, can I?"

Without a warning Francis bent down and picked Arthur up in a princess carry, making the Brit yelp in surprise. Francis didn't show it, but he did struggle to lift Arthur a little, just like last night. Francis exercised just enough to maintain his figure, but he wasn't much stronger than an average man. Besides, his hips and legs were a bit weak as well, as Arthur had shown as little mercy towards Francis last night as Francis had towards the Brit.

"Wha-? Put me down, we're both going to fall over!"

Arthur exclaimed, and instinctively wrapped his arms around Francis' neck, which brought the Frenchman so much joy. And it showed; Francis was basically beaming.

"_Non, non_, I will not let you fall, Arthur. My feeble arms have more strength than you think~"

Francis made a little spin, and although Arthur was glaring at the Frenchman, he was also fighting back a smile for some reason.

"I swear, if you do not put me down right NO-!"

"Then what, _cheri_? Please do share."

Francis purred and brought his face very close to Arthur's. Their noses were almost touching, and Arthur's eyes widened a bit as he felt Francis' breath on his lips. Arthur blinked twice, and his eyes began to close while expecting a kiss. But Arthur never got one, because the next thing he knew, Francis had dropped him, literally dropped him, on the bed and was walking out of the room while laughing lightly.

"I will make breakfast, please do make yourself decent before you join me in the kitchen."

Francis hollered before closing the bedroom room behind him. Arthur stared at the door for several moments before he felt his face redden with humiliation. A bit too late he yelled

"Like you're one to talk, naked frog!"

From somewhere in the apartment Francis' laughter floated into Arthur's ears, making the Brit even more peeved. Why was that man so…so…FRENCH!

Arthur growled angrily and muttered insults under his breath as he dressed. He probably looked like even more of a mess than usual; clothes all wrinkled, hair looking like a crow's nest, pressure marks from the pillow on his cheek, and there were bags under Arthur's eyes. He had no makeup since Arthur had showered last night, twice. Francis had commented Arthur looked younger without makeup, and Arthur agreed. He had freckles that Arthur didn't bother covering, but with his makeup on people rarely took notice of them. Without the makeup Arthur looked like an innocent schoolboy, face kissed by freckles and large green eyes glimmering, the image was only missing the blonde hair (and was kind of ruined by his thick eyebrows). Arthur absolutely hated looking younger than he was. Though Francis had seemed to like it, so maybe it wasn't that bad…

Wait, what the fuck?! Where had that thought come from?! Francis was doing some weird shit to Arthur, no doubt about it!

In the spur of the moment Arthur decided to spite Francis, and he carefully exited the bedroom. But instead of walking into the kitchen (the smell wafting from there was delicious but Arthur ignored it) the Brit headed to the front door as quietly as possible. In the foyer Arthur grabbed his coat and boots and slipped out, stomping down the stairs to his bike, still parked by the curb. Francis could eat his breakfast alone for all Arthur cared, he was feeling pissed enough already. And although part of Arthur acknowledged he had left for that very reason, he didn't want to unleash his nasty temper on Francis, the Brit ignored that part and told himself he left as a payback for the humiliation. Besides, this was how Arthur treated all the rest of his one-night stands, why should this be any different?

So, Arthur hopped on the saddle and speeded away, only later at his apartment realizing he didn't have Francis' phone number. And that bummed Arthur out more than he wanted to admit.

* * *

"You did _what_?!"

Cherry looked at Arthur, flabbergasted at what the man had done to Francis last Saturday. It was Monday now, late afternoon, and Arthur had decided to tell the story of his first time sleeping with a Frenchman. Aside from being his boss Cherry was also a very close friend to Arthur, and whereas Cherry shared pics of her baby and husband and talked about "the good old days" (aka. when Cherry hadn't been married and partied non-stop) Arthur shared stories of drunken shenanigans and one-night stands to make them both laugh. Though this story hadn't made Cherry laugh.

"I decided to mess with him and snuck out. As payback for him messing with me. Seems only fair to me."

"Dear Lord, Arthur, no! What you just described to me sounded like a rather nice evening, night and morning. Unlike any other you've had, at least."

Cherry shook her head in disbelief and disappointment. She had thought she raised her unofficial adult son better than this. Though…considering what Arthur had been through trust issues and inconsiderate behaviour were just one of many problems the Brit had.

Arthur frowned, it was true that he had felt some guilt and even regret ever since that morning, but he had thought it was all in his head. Arthur had hoped Cherry would prove that. But no, she was actually looking genuinely disappointed and was now scolding him.

"It'd be different if this was just one of your one-night stands, but you know this person, Arthur. He was a customer, and I may even dare say an acquaintance. And you seem to like him. So yeah, that was a dick move."

Arthur couldn't just let that slide and opened his mouth to defend his honour, but the front door happened to open just then. Both him and Cherry turned to look at the potential customer, but when they saw Francis coming through the door both froze. And whereas the next moment Cherry grinned devilishly Arthur paled and stood up from his stool. Cherry grabbed him by the arm and yanked him back down, smiling at Francis.

"Hello there. And how can we help you?"

Cherry said with a cheery tone, that had an undertone of scheming. Arthur was avoiding making eye contact with Francis, instead opting to glare at Cherry. Arthur was feeling strangely guilty and bad now all because of her scolding, so Arthur blamed these feelings on her.

"Ah, _oui_, I have come because of my tattoo. The skin on and around it is red and irritated, I wanted a professional's opinion."

Francis said that, but it was clear that wasn't the only reason he was here. The Frenchman wasn't even trying to hide the fact that his eyes were on Arthur, and the look on his face was serious and determined. Cherry smiled, looks like Arthur wasn't the only one who was fond of the other in this…acquaintanceship.

"I'm not surprised, not a good idea to shag right after getting a tattoo. All the sweat and contact irritates it. I'll just get you some antibacterial lotion from the back. You kids behave."

Cherry winked, got up from her seat and walked to the back room. And she decided to stay there for at least 10 minutes, that ought to give them a chance to talk things out.

The moment Cherry left the situation Arthur could've sworn there were fire ants in his pants. He fidgeted and couldn't stay in place and Francis' eyes weighed heavy upon him.

"You missed a fantastic breakfast, _mon cher sourcils_."

Francis said, now leaning his elbows on the counter right by Arthur. The Brit couldn't stop himself from looking at Francis anymore and stole a glance. And almost immediately regretted it, because it was clear from the Frenchman's expression that he was hurt and even a bit angry. Arthur combed a hand through his hair and groaned silently, wondering what the hell he was supposed to say.

"Yeah, I forgot to water my plants the previous day, so I had to leave early. Shame, uh, about the breakfast, sorry."

Arthur internally cringed at that pathetic excuse. He never forgot to water his plants, they were basically on the same level as pets for him and he took good care of them. And Arthur could see that Francis wasn't buying it either.

"Apology not accepted, Arthur. For the wasted breakfast is not what hurt me. Even if it was a delicious breakfast."

Francis cracked a small smile, but Arthur didn't dare return it, because Francis was still pissed. Arthur wanted to bang his head against the counter, he knew what he was sorry for, but Arthur hated apologizing, childishly enough.

"But…you can give me your phone number, and I will forgive you. _D'accord_?"

That did surprise Arthur, and he looked at Francis with a confused expression. Francis was really going to let it go with just that? No, there had to be a catch, Arthur was sure of it. He crossed his arms loosely over his chest and eyed Francis with suspicion.

"That's it? I did a pretty shitty thing; I was expecting you to make me apologize on my knees."

Francis chuckled, enjoying the mental image Arthur painted for him, but then resumed the serious demeanour he'd been upholding for most of this interaction. Francis reached forward and took a loose hold of Arthur's chin, tipping his head up a bit so they had firm eye contact.

"I want to develop this. Whatever we have, this seed of a relationship, I want to see what it can become. I want to let it bloom. Will you let me try?"

Arthur blinked, already getting used to the small touches he received from Francis and thus forgetting to slap his hand away. His words were not registering properly, and it took Arthur several moments to realize that Francis wanted to…date him? That was ridiculous! Because…just…

"Why? I'm an asshole."

Arthur simply stated, genuinely believing his words. Other people could attest to their truthfulness, and Arthur had shown Francis plenty of proof. And yet, despite that, Francis had the gall to laugh. That was when Arthur frowned and pushed Francis' hand away, not appreciating the amusement when he was, for once, being genuine.

"I am very aware, _cheri_, that you are an asshole. But that is not all you are, _non_? I have seen it, and I want to see more. That is why I'm making this request. Say yes, Arthur. The least you will get out of it is great sex."

Francis winked at the end of the statement, probably thinking his last argument was very persuasive. Arthur did admit that the sex had been good, but it wasn't a deal breaker, not by a long shot. No, Arthur needed a more concrete reason to do this, he hadn't been in a relationship for a long time. Not since high school, and that hadn't exactly ended well when Arthur's parents had found out.

But…Arthur realized that he wanted to say yes. Not because of the sex, but because he was intrigued about Francis as well. He wanted to know more about the Frenchman. Perhaps Francis pointed out the sex to give Arthur a reason to say yes, if he was too proud or embarrassed to say that he was interested in Francis. That made Arthur's eyes narrow, if Francis had really meant it like that then he knew how Arthur worked a bit too well.

If Arthur dated Francis, then he'd have the chance to take this frog by surprise. Arthur wasn't about to let Francis keep thinking he was predictable.

"Okay then, I will do this with you. But I sure as hell hope what you are getting into, frog."

Arthur, instinctively, reached out his hand for a handshake, to seal the deal. Francis smirked, took the hand and jerked Arthur forward. Their lips crashed together, and Francis gave Arthur's lower lip a small tug, slightly sinister smile on his face.

"Oh, I do know. And I cannot wait."

Arthur felt heat on his cheeks, and he found himself hoping HE knew what he was getting himself into.

* * *

Only Francis would come up with such a cliché first date. A stroll and a picnic in a park, a scene Arthur had seen in probably a hundred movies and books before. And Arthur knew his clichés, reading romance novels was one of the secrets he'd take to the grave.

It was a Wednesday afternoon, two days after the Brit agreeing to date Francis. Arthur was sitting on a bench waiting for Francis, who was almost 10 minutes late. Arthur could already hear Francis calling it being "fashionably late", but that was bollocks. Late was late. Arthur's foot tapped against the gravel path, that made its way in a straight line through the park, with some smaller paths diverging from it here and there. Arthur had always enjoyed being in parks, even if he looked out of place. Though today Arthur had toned down his punk style slightly. Instead of wearing his leather jacket Arthur had a black denim jacket, and his dark blue jeans weren't ripped. Arthur still had a tank top with a rock band logo and had his sleeves rolled up, and he had all his piercings. And naturally Arthur's hair was green, only now it was partially covered by a dark forest green beanie. Arthur had gone for a more casual look so Francis wouldn't think he was trying too hard. Arthur didn't want to give the Frenchman any strange ideas.

"_Cher sourcils_!"

Speak of the devil…

Arthur turned to look at Francis, who was jogging towards the bench, carrying a basket. Francis looked very nice with his black jeans, baby pink dress shirt and a white cardigan casually thrown on top of it. And that goddamn hair looked as perfect as always. Arthur, ignoring the small butterflies in his stomach, stood up to greet the Frenchman. Or more like scold, because the first thing out of Arthur's mouth was

"You're late, frog."

"Ah, _désolé_. It takes time to put myself together. And I am merely fash- "

"Fashionably late, indeed. Now your fashionably late arse can explain where we are headed. You were the one who insisted on planning this…outing."

Arthur crossed his arms, and while the Brit spoke Francis took in his appearance. Arthur looked…normal. Well, normal compared to his usual punk look. The punk look suited Arthur well and Francis thought it made him look sexy, but this Arthur wasn't bad at all either. The casual attire made Arthur look like a college student, though the dark brown loafers looked like the Brit had stolen them from his grandfather. And Arthur's makeup-less face looked boyish and endearing, and Francis wanted to kiss his freckled cheeks, nose and then capture his lips to make Arthur's wilder side come out.

But Francis could do that to his heart's content later. Now he needed to appease his lover, and not to lose his temper.

"But it is a _magnifique cul, non_? And I am going to take you to a place that I found soon after I came to London, I believe even you should be amazed by it, _cheri_."

Francis teased, and without hesitation took Arthur's hand and began leading the Brit along the path. Arthur, embarrassed by the public display of affection, tried to pull his hand away but Francis' grip was surprisingly firm.

"Not everyone is too accepting about things like this here, frog. Let go before the wrong people see."

Arthur hissed, already noticing some disapproving glances from older people around them. It was a rare sunny day in London and a lot of people were out and about. Arthur frowned and tried to take on his usual intimidating expression, one he used for scaring people off, but then he remembered he wasn't wearing his usual makeup or punk attire. And without both of those Arthur was defenceless. Suddenly Arthur felt smaller, more vulnerable and afraid, and his gaze darted around the park, his eyes and ears saw and heard looks and whispers and murmurs everywhere.

"_Faggot."_

"_That's fucking disgusting."_

"_Don't touch me."_

"_Why are you even still here?"_

"_Arthur!"_

"_Arthur…"_

"Arthur? _Cheri_? Are you alright?"

Arthur blinked and his eyes stopped darting around, as a familiar irritating French accent cut through the brewing panic attack. Arthur stared at Francis, who had let go of his hand and instead had a hand on his shoulder. There was a concerned frown on the Frenchman's face, and now the looks from around them weren't disgusted but confused and intrigued. Or had they even been disgusted to begin with? Arthur couldn't really tell or remember…

"Uh, yeah, I'm okay. Just…didn't eat breakfast today?"

Francis didn't buy it, but it seemed to be a rather personal topic. Francis could recognize a panic attack when he saw one, he had friends who had them. So, instead of fuzzing like he wanted to Francis clicked his tongue reproachingly in a teasing manner.

"Breakfast is the most important part of the meal, Arthur. Besides, how am I supposed to last until the secret spot if hunger makes you crankier than usual?"

Francis smirked a bit, leaned in to give a quick kiss to Arthur's cheek like he had wanted to this whole time and then walked on, chuckling. Arthur, flabbergasted and blushing slightly, forgot about his near-panic attack and went after Francis.

"You'll get lucky if I'm just cranky, wanker. If you continue your tomfoolery, I might just get mad and you do not want to see that."

Arthur complained, and Francis laughed at the Brit's very, well, British choices of words. The two continued walking on like that, bickering and occasionally flirting back and forth. But Francis didn't make any other attempts at taking Arthur's hand.

They were nearly halfway through the park when Francis made a sudden left, towards the small river that flowed through the greenery. Arthur followed and didn't expect to be surprised, he had lived in London his whole life and knew this park well. Many of Arthur's old hiding places were located there, they were where Arthur went when things got…tense at home.

So, when Francis walked to a weeping willow by the stream and separated the branches to form a doorway of sorts under the foliage Arthur wasn't surprised. Of course, he knew about the secret chambers under the branches, anyone with half a brain would figure them out. But nevertheless, Arthur humoured Francis and walked into the dim, green pavilion with a slightly smug smile on his face.

"Is this all? I found this place when I was- "

"You might not want to finish that thought, _mon cher sourcils_. We are not there yet."

Well, that surprised Arthur, and he looked at Francis. The Frenchman had walked to the other side of the trunk and started to separate the branches on a different spot. Arthur frowned, the spot Francis was trying to get to was surrounded by bushes from the outside, you shouldn't be able to get there. And yet, when Francis revealed what was behind the branches Arthur's eyes widened slightly. There was a rather large gap between the bushes, like a small pathway, that you couldn't see from the outside. Not unless you pushed through the thick bushes. Arthur walked past Francis and along the path, his eyes were full of wonder and Arthur didn't think of putting his defences up. Francis followed the scene with a small delighted smile, this was a side he hadn't seen of the Brit before. Francis had gotten the inkling that Arthur actually cared about plants more than he let on, but this was a very pleasant surprise.

Francis followed Arthur, and though he had seen this place before the Frenchman also took in the surroundings. The one who had planted those bushes had clearly meant for this pathway to exist, but to be a secret. Only those curious enough would find it. And Francis was happy to be able to show it to Arthur.

The pathway eventually led to another weeping willow, this also by the stream. But this willow's branches didn't quite reach to the ground, instead forming a cote of sorts. The spot was unreachable unless you came either through the pathway or the stream itself, so Francis and Arthur were all alone. Francis went over to the willow and spread the blanket under it. Arthur scoffed a bit when he saw the blanket was a stereotypical red and white checker pattern, but it was more of a chuckle than a scoff. Francis was clearly a romantic, and Arthur…didn't hate it.

"There better be no fried frog legs in that basket, frog."

Arthur said, more humorously than with actual ill intent. This place had put Arthur in a good mood, he liked nature and discovering new things. Even if those things were shown to him by a slimy Frenchman.

Francis looked at Arthur with a feigned scandalized expression and pressed a hand against his chest, gasping slightly.

"You insinuate I would eat my own kind? You wound me, Arthur."

Arthur cackled a bit and after taking off his shoes and neatly putting them beside the blanket he sat down on it. Francis followed in suit moments later and sat close to Arthur, so they were thigh to thigh. Arthur didn't scoot away.

"…Thank you for showing me this place."

Arthur mumbled, looking down at the grass and ripping blades of it off and throwing them towards the stream. Most didn't reach the water, but those that did gently wafted away, lead by the stream. Francis chuckled, seeing Arthur this shy was very rare and enjoyable, and pulled out the appetizers from the basket. Small meat pies (Francis thought Arthur might appreciate British food) and vegetable terrine.

"I thought this place would be ideal to be away from prying eyes. To get a certain cranky Brit out of his shell."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at Francis, but the man just smiled and winked as he handed his cranky Brit a paper plate with a meat pie. Arthur looked at it and admittedly it looked delicious. And so did the…vegetable roll(?) Francis was eating.

"If you want me out of my shell you need a whole lot more than a secret spot and some meat pie."

Arthur muttered, crankily as always, and tasted the meat pie. Yup, it was delicious. Arthur had yet another thing to admire and hate Francis for.

Francis reached out and gently pulled Arthur's beanie off his head. The Brit looked at the man with confusion but didn't put it back on. Francis looked at Arthur, looking like he belonged in this small spot of quiet with his emerald eyes and hair, seemingly at peace for the first time since he and Francis met. And the Brit looked beautiful.

"I'm willing to try as many times as it takes, _cher_."

* * *

**Magnifique cul : Wonderful ass**

**D'accord? : Deal?**

**I was originally planning on not adding the fluff at the end and just doing a few week timeskip, but decided against it. At least I don't usually like when people do timeskips right after a relationship is established, since I like seeing at least some progression. So, I added in their first date~**

**I hope you're enjoying my story. Please leave a review if you like it and tell me your thoughts. The next chapter should be the last or second to last.**


	5. Chapter 4,5

**A warning; this chapter is more of a filler chapter, showing two short snippets of the relationship between Arthur and Francis after they've just begun dating. You can skip this chapter since it doesn't have any plot relevance, but it's pretty short and has some fluff and fun interactions, so I recommend reading it.**

**I do not own Hetalia, I only own my own imagination**

* * *

Chapter 4.5

"_Bonjour, mon cher sourcils_~ Are you ready now, or must I drag you away again?"

Cherry and Gilbert were both holding back laughter, as they watched the rather flamboyant Frenchman storm into their little parlour. Arthur, who had been sketching by the counter, looked both flabbergasted and annoyed and quickly put away his sketchbook. Cherry knew why; he had been sketching flowers, lots and lots of flowers. And Cherry could very easily guess the inspiration behind them. Even now Francis pulled a red rose from behind his back and handed it to Arthur. Arthur loved red roses, a fact that had been leaked by Cherry, and Francis used it to his advantage whenever he could. The Brit glanced at his two friends, who were both smirking in a smug, slightly evil way. Arthur and Francis had been dating for almost a week now and this wasn't the first time Francis had shown up here. But it never got old to watch the fireworks.

"Frog! How many times do I have to tell you to text me before you show up?!"

Arthur hissed angrily, trying not to lift his voice too much, and Francis smirked in a similar way to how their audience was smirking.

"Oh? But I'm allowed to come? I'm _très flatté, cheri_, that you are waiting for me."

Francis teased, and gave Arthur's lips a quick peck. The Brit sputtered and blushed and shoved Francis away (less roughly than usual though). And, at some point, the rose had found its way into Arthur's hands.

"Who's waiting for you?! I just don't want you showing up unannounced, and your apartment happens to be closer."

Arthur tried to make excuses, but it was clear Francis wasn't buying it.

"_Oui oui_, whatever you say. But you can show up at my shop whenever you like. I do love surprises, especially when they're in the form of _mignon_ cranky Brits~"

Arthur, eventually starting to reach the limit of his humiliation meter, whacked the Frenchman on the head with the rose. Not too hard to ruin the flower though. Arthur carefully put the rose in his bag behind the counter and angrily marched around it to Francis. Cherry and Gilbert were snickering amongst themselves, and Arthur felt his cheeks glow red.

"For the love of all that's holy, shut your mouth already! Why do you insist on messing with me?"

Arthur hissed and grabbed Francis by the arm as he spoke, dragging the Frenchman towards the door. Francis hollered a cheery goodbye to Cherry and Gilbert, and when they exited Francis shifted Arthur's hold, so he was holding the Brit's hand.

"Because seeing you flustered is one of my favourite forms of entertainment, _cheri_."

Francis murmured; his face was close to Arthur's ear. The Brit blushed yet again and muttered grumpily, as they approached his bike by the curb.

"As expected, we are taking the metal beast again today?"

Francis asked, and Arthur threw him an amused and slightly smug glance.

"Why? Are you scared, frog?"

Francis' brow twitched slightly; he didn't like Arthur's tone. So, he slipped his free hand behind Arthur and gave his ass a quick squeeze as he yet again spoke near his ear.

"_Non_. In fact, it reminds me of our first night. You look _délicieux_ on top of your bike."

Arthur blushed and shivered a bit and shooed Francis' hand away from his behind. But the deed was done; Francis had painted a picture in Arthur's head that involved a lot of indecent things and his bike. Arthur groaned, opened the saddle and threw the spare helmet to Francis.

"Just to spite you I won't let you into my pants tonight."

He grumbled and put on his own helmet. Francis chuckled and did the same, answering after he was settled behind Arthur on the saddle.

"We will see about that, _mon cher sourcils_."

* * *

"…This is quite the surprise, _cheri_. Even for the surprise-loving _moi_."

Francis said slowly, as he looked at the building in front of them. It was a library, a big one at that, and it was currently 1pm, Wednesday. Since Francis had chosen the location and activity of their first date now it was Arthur's turn, and the Brit had chosen…here. Francis didn't really know what he had expected. A rock club? A pub? A live house? Under the bridge? But certainly not a library with classical architecture and a calm feeling to it.

Arthur, yet again dressed in a slightly more subdued getup, shrugged and started walking up the stairs. Francis followed close behind, taking in the building.

"There aren't as many people during this time, and the building itself is a sight to see. I thought you'd appreciate the visuals, at least."

Francis gave a nod in agreement; he really did like these visuals. He liked everything beautiful, and this building was just that. And when they entered, he was just as impressed. The ceiling was high and there were a lot of windows, that provided natural light. There was a lot of marble and stone and the colours were light and open.

"This place is very beautiful, Arthur."

Francis said, and Arthur seemed pleased with himself. The sight made Francis chuckle, and as they began ascending to the second floor the Frenchman tentatively took Arthur's hand. The Brit flinched, but since he saw there were barely any other people around, he let it be. They'd be in between the shelves soon enough anyway; those would give them cover.

"I know, it's my favourite library. And there's a book I want to get from here."

Arthur explained, and Francis listened intently. He was very interested in learning more about Arthur's tastes. So, the Brit was a reader then? Now Francis really wanted to know what Arthur read.

"What kind of book?"

Francis asked, swinging their arms back and forth slightly, and Arthur smirked a bit.

"I doubt a frog like you would be familiar with it."

Francis smirked back; so that's how Arthur wanted to play? Sure, Francis would bite.

"I have read my fair share of books, _cheri_. I'm sure it won't be nothing too sophisticated, taking your fashion choices. And I have seen the fairy tale on your arm."

"Excuse me? My choice of dress says nothing about my taste in books, frog! And Alice in Wonderland is a classic, a big part of literature!"

"I beg to differ; books should not be judged by their cover, but I must say your back-cover text does not give me a lot of hope, _cheri_. Or…do you wish to prove me wrong?"

Francis raised one of his brows, and Arthur furrowed his. This was all just to make Arthur tell Francis which book he wanted, and they both knew that. But Arthur didn't care. He huffed angrily, and pulled Francis along by his hand.

"I'll show you, frog, just you wait…"

Arthur muttered, and Francis chuckled. He followed along, and was delighted that Arthur didn't want to let go of his hand.

They ended up at the British Literature section. Francis eyed the selection, he had read many of these books and had liked most of them. Arthur angry-skimmed the shelves, and eventually found what he was looking for. He picked out a true classic, A Tale of Two Cities. One that Francis had also read.

"I wanted to re-read this, it has been a while. Dickens is a master of words in my opinion. Do you want to also re-read that 'back-cover text' that gave you such low hopes?"

Arthur asked with a huff, and Francis had to hold back a chuckle. Arthur had really taken his words to heart. Instead of answering immediately Francis also skimmed through the shelf and picked out a book, one of his favourites. Jane Eyre.

"I do not doubt your taste, but I personally prefer this. The characters are built very well and the story is well-paced."

Arthur's eyebrows rose in surprise at Francis being a fellow bookworm. The Brit smiled a little, and the two began to debate over the supremacy between the books. That was how their afternoon went; they visited different section, compared their reading experiences and suggested books to each other. And just before the library's closing time they made out in a secret spot only Arthur knew of.

All in all, both men thought that their second date was quite enjoyable. And the same could be said about the third, the fourth and almost all of the other dates the men ended up having during the next month or so.

* * *

**Très flatté = Very flattered**

**Yes, this chapter could've been better, but I still think their relationship needed a bit more substance before I jump into the climax and the end. I hope you enjoyed this bit of a filler chapter, and I'll see you soon with the next chapter, that focuses back on the actual plot.**

**Please leave a review, and favourite/follow if this fic is to your liking~**


	6. Chapter 5

**Welcome to the second to last chapter, everyone! After this we will get an angst fest, and after that…who knows? I won't spoil the ending~ But I will say that originally this was supposed to be the last chapter. I, however, underestimated my writing abilities and I wrote a lot more than I was supposed to. So I cut the last chapter short and instead made it into two separate chapters. Enjoy the first one, it's a bit boring but contains information that is very needed.**

**I do not own Hetalia, I only own my own imagination**

* * *

Chapter 5

"Arthur?"

"Mm? Whazzit, frog?"

Arthur's answer was barely discernible, he was still half-asleep, and it was way too damn early to wake up. Arthur wasn't like Francis with his 8am alarms, the Brit didn't have to go to work until 10pm. And Arthur wasn't a morning person, Francis had learned that much by now. They had been "dating" for several weeks now, and Arthur had slept over at Francis' many times. The opposite hadn't happened yet, though.

Francis, whose arms had been loosely wrapped around Arthur's waist, pulled the Brit closer until he could rest his chin on Arthur's shoulder. It felt nice to feel Francis' chest against his naked back, and Arthur was slowly getting used to this level of intimacy. Hell, he might learn to like it. But this early morning whisper routine was starting to get boring. Francis had been doing it for almost a week now, and it always started with Francis calling Arthur by his first name. Not cheri, not sourcils, just Arthur. And the Brit knew exactly what Francis would say next, and when. He even counted inside his head. _'Three, two, one…'_

"Nothing. _Désolé_ for waking you, _cheri_."

Arthur sighed, and suddenly turned around on Francis' arms so he was facing the Frenchman. Arthur raised a brow at his lover, and Francis was looking back with a confused and…guilty(?) look. Arthur wasn't stupid, he had noticed Francis had been a bit odd lately. And he was going to make Francis spit whatever was bothering him out.

"The damage is done, so shouldn't you go ahead and spill what you were going to say. This is getting ridiculous, Francis."

Arthur rarely called Francis by his first name, and thus the Frenchman was surprised when the Brit did so. His eyebrows rose, but Arthur just kept staring at Francis in a determined, demanding manner. Francis shifted, the thing Arthur wanted him to "spill" was something that would most likely shift the mood into a darker direction, no matter the situation. But Francis had been wanting to tell what was in his mind for a while now. He bit his lower lip lightly, considering whether or not he should share, and Arthur sighed irritably.

"Listen, you've been acting weird for several days now. Is it because I don't want to show you my place? I told you I just appreciate my own space, but if it bothers you _that_ much- "

"What? _Non_, it's not that, I don't have to see your apartment until you want to show me. I've just been thinking…"

Francis trailed off, quick to correct Arthur. But now he really couldn't back out from telling Arthur the truth. Francis didn't enjoy lying, at least without a reason. Bending the truth, sure, but not flat-out lying. Francis sighed a bit, and Arthur waited with an expression that was growing increasingly annoyed.

"Do you remember when you stopped me from sharing the story behind my tattoo? Well, I think I want to tell you that 'sob story' now."

Arthur blinked, surprised. He didn't know what he had been expecting but certainly not this. Yes, he was curious, and Arthur had been wondering about the lily on Francis' arms, he did see it very often at night (and sometimes during the day, and morning, and other times of the day). Lately Arthur had been feeling increasingly pleased, that he had been the one to make that tattoo. That he had made something that was on Francis' body for the rest of his life. Arthur told himself it was pride for doing a good job, but a strange feeling of…affection, or fondness, was mixed in. And Arthur wasn't certain how to feel about that.

But now Francis was here, ready to tell that story, and Arthur was confused why now, and why in general. And so, Arthur brought that into question, like he did with most things.

"What brought this on suddenly?"

He asked, looking puzzled. Francis, surprisingly, blushed slightly, which almost startled Arthur. Francis had nearly no shame, the Frenchman never blushed, he was so certain of himself all the time. What on Earth could make him-?

"I've realized I…care about you quite a lot. And I think you deserve to know this about me."

Arthur was shocked into silence, both in his own mind and externally, and he just stared at Francis with his mouth slightly open. Francis smiled a small, even a bit sad smile and pecked Arthur on the lips before starting with his story.

"I had a friend, a very close friend. Her name was Jeanne. I used to be…not in a great place, mentally or physically. I met her, and she made a place for herself in my heart and life."

Francis' voice turned tender and grieving, and Arthur couldn't have interrupted him even if he had wanted to. And he didn't want to. The shock was wearing off, but Arthur pushed away his conflicted feeling for now in favour of letting Francis get this off his chest. Because Arthur had grown to care for Francis too, enough for his heart to hurt to see the Frenchman like this.

After a short break and a deep breath Francis went on.

"I guess she saw what I could be, instead of what I was. And she made sure to tell me that every chance she had. It felt like she had been sent to me just to make me a better person. Because she succeeded in that, miraculously enough. She pulled out the decency I didn't know I had. And…I loved her, so much."

Arthur's heart clenched, but he ignored it. The fact that Francis had loved people wasn't surprising, especially since he couldn't possibly love Arthur. At least not yet. They had been dating for barely a month, and "I care about you a lot" was nowhere near "I love you". But nevertheless, it hurt.

Arthur was silent and looked solemn, but was paying close attention. Francis looked close to tears but continued. The story was approaching the part that still made Francis break apart.

"We moved to London together, Jeanne had a lot of relatives here and she always put family first. I worked and she studied and we…we were happy. But after falling into some bad company I…I relapsed, in a way. And I put her through hell again. Then one night she came to pick me up from a club, I was very _ivre_, so drunk, _et-et je…je l'ai tuée_…"

Francis' voice became but a hoarse whisper, thickened by the tears he was holding back. He slipped to French, a language that usually sounded so elegant and beautiful on his lips. But now the sound of it broke Arthur's heart. He reached out a hand and touched it to Francis' cheek, and although Arthur's first instinct was to get angry at whatever was making Francis this miserable he forced his best sympathetic expression on his face.

"Francis…"

Arthur said quietly, and wondered how Francis' eyes could look even more perfect even when glistening with tears.

Francis took a breath, and forced himself to finish the story. He was so close.

"I-I interfered with her driving and…and she drove into the opposite lain. I survived almost without a scratch, but she…the driver's seat was crushed, and she…"

Tears began falling out of Francis' eyes, he didn't need to finish the sentence. Rather, Arthur didn't let him. The Brit pulled Francis into his arms and the Frenchman buried his face into Arthur's chest, soaking the man's skin with tears. But Arthur didn't care. This Jeanne person had been the most important person to Francis, and the man had a fucking right to cry. Hell, Arthur would let him cry all day if he wanted to. Arthur had never lost anyone he loved so deeply, but he had cried for days when his grandmother, his favourite and most beloved relative, had died. It sounded like it had been a while since this Jeanne person had died, but Arthur bet that even a lifetime of tears wouldn't be enough to compensate for the sorrow Francis felt.

"It was her 5th death anniversary that day. When I came in for my first appointment. I had told myself that if I stayed alive for 5 years, if I was alright, then I would get myself something that would forever remind me of the love I felt for her. And tattoo seemed like the best option."

Francis said against Arthur's chest, and the Frenchman was grateful for the support. The Frenchman had known that Arthur had a good heart, but he hadn't known how he would react to his story. He still didn't know, as Francis couldn't see Arthur's face. But Arthur's hand was in his hair, stroking it calmly, and that was a good sign.

"You're strong, Francis."

Arthur muttered, rather quietly, and Francis looked at him as if to confirm that he had heard right. Arthur looked thoughtful, but there was also sorrow in his expression.

"It sounds like she was the love of your life. Someone you can only find once. If I lost someone like that, I'd probably be messed up for decades to come. But you…you're pretty damn amazing. And I…I respect you for that."

Arthur was saying all of this half to himself, otherwise he would've been way too embarrassed to say it. He didn't like talking about his feelings, making himself vulnerable. But right now, in this moment, he had a feeling that Francis needed it. And Francis wouldn't hurt him. Not like Alfred had.

Francis looked at Arthur, beyond surprised, and now it was his turn to pull Arthur against his chest. Arthur absently kept stroking Francis' hair, and the Frenchman murmured into his hair.

"_Merci, cheri_. Thank you, Arthur. You have given me a gift."

Arthur let out a shaky exhale, he didn't know why those words had such a big impact on him. But Arthur could feel that the remnants of a wall he had had around his heart came crumbling down. And Arthur just let himself be in Francis' embrace, and the two men welcomed the Sunday like that, tightly in each other's arms. And they stayed that way for most of the morning, and that was why Arthur didn't see the message that arrived on his phone, that would once again take him to a very dark place.

* * *

"So…are you going?"

Cherry and Arthur sat in Arthur's living room together, and Arthur was looking at the floor with a grim expression. Cherry was looking at Arthur with barely contained rage and deep sorrow in her eyes, waiting for her friend's response.

Arthur, weakly, shrugged and pulled out his phone, reading the message one more time. It had come from a nameless number, since Arthur had long since erased his mother from his contact list. But the contents of the message made it clear who it was from.

'_Arthur, your father is dead. He wished that you would at least come bid him farewell. Please, grant him his last wish. The funeral is on Tuesday, please come the day before that. Love, mother.'_

Cherry had read the message, and she had scoffed with disgust at the "love" part. What love? The love that had driven Arthur's mother to push her son away? The love that had made Arthur's entire family hate the boy just because he had been honest and open about who _he_ loved? The love that had given Arthur all the issues he had now? No, this woman had no right to mention love and Arthur in the same context. As a mother herself Cherry was appalled.

But Arthur was just…tired, and conflicted. He didn't feel sad about his father's death, at least not yet. Well, on the other hand Arthur and his whole family had been preparing for it for a long time. Mr. Kirkland had always had a bad heart, and doctors had told them he wouldn't live to be over 60. This year he had turned 59. So, just in time.

Arthur sighed, once more, and massaged his temples. Finally, after almost 20 minutes, he lifted his eyes to look into Cherry's

"I'm going. The old prick never liked me, but it would be too much of a dick move to deny him of his last wish. Even from me."

Cherry frowned; she didn't like this. Going to his childhood home could very well break Arthur again. She had seen it happen before. But…Arthur, despite his obvious fatigue, also seemed…determined. He was ready to do this and get it over with. Cherry nodded, reluctantly.

"When?"

"Tomorrow morning. Ma probably wants me there day early so the rest of the family doesn't see me. And I don't want to see them."

Arthur almost spit out the last words. He remembered the time when he had thought that his family was a tight-knit community, that left no one behind and everyone supported each other. But then he had come out at 13 and everyone had turned against him. They had thrown venomous words at him, gossiped about him, insulted him and some even beat him. Mostly the elder male relatives, and only few, but still. They had basically thrown Arthur out; he was a stain on their family tree. And though it had broken Arthur's heart before now he was more than happy to make himself disappear. He was going to do it with this visit, and he was going to do it his way.

"Did you bring what I asked?"

Arthur looked at Cherry, and the woman nodded again. She pulled out the package, it was a hair product that erased existing hair dye from one's hair. Arthur took it and gave Cherry a weak smile.

"Thanks, love. I think I'm ready to take back the Kirkland blonde."

Cherry gave a small, slightly bittersweet chuckle, but didn't argue. The truth was, that Arthur actually liked his blonde hair colour. He had dyed it originally to spite his family, and then had just kept it as a defence mechanism. A part of the wall that shielded him from hurt. The fact that Arthur was ready to bid goodbye to it was proof, that Arthur was becoming stronger. Cherry felt like a mother watching her child leave the nest, as Arthur walked into his bathroom and started the process.

The door closed, and Cherry looked around the apartment. It really didn't look like an apartment of someone who dressed in the punk style. It was homely, with lots of earthy colours and sturdy furniture. There was lots of dark wood and shades of green and brown and red, and the two bookshelves were filled with books to the brim. The plants along the windowsill were thriving, and Arthur had some magazines about cats on his nightstand (Arthur had wanted a cat for the longest time, a Scottish Fold).

Arthur was the very definition of "Don't judge a book by its cover".

Arthur walked out after a short while, the product in his hair, and Cherry looked at him with a serious face.

"Does Francis know?"

Arthur paused, surprised by the sudden question. Or, well, maybe it wasn't all that sudden. Francis was, more or less, Arthur's…boyfriend. God, it felt strange to refer to Francis as that.

Eventually Arthur shook his head, and Cherry sighed in frustration.

"And I assume you haven't told him about your family or past either. Which is okay, don't get me wrong. But listen, this trip might…bother you. A lot. What are you going to tell him when you hole up in your apartment for several days?"

Cherry asked, and Arthur wasn't sure how to answer. He got a bit irritated, actually, because Cherry automatically assumed he might not be okay after this trip. Arthur was feeling pretty sure of himself, and he crossed his arms across his chest. Cherry mentally groaned, that was never a good sign.

"I won't tell him anything because I won't hole up like some bloody hermit. I'll go there, pay my respects, come back. It'll be one-day trip, for God's sake. It'll just be Ma there, maybe my brothers. And I can deal with those assholes."

Arthur tried to sound confident, but he was actually slightly doubtful (which pissed him off). Yes, Dylan he could handle, but Alistair and Connor…those two were completely different beasts…

But like hell Arthur was going to tell that to Cherry. The woman looked doubtful, but with a defeated huff she turned away and began skimming through one of the cat magazines.

"I will not be here to tell you 'I told you so' when you get back, then."

Arthur, peeved at both himself and Cherry, grunted a gruff "Fine" and stomped back to the bathroom. Cherry looked after him, and smiled slightly. Yes, she wouldn't be here, but Cherry had the number of someone who would.

It wouldn't be pretty to see, but if Francis wanted to be with Arthur he would have to see the Brit at his worst. And usually, after seeing his family, Arthur was at his absolute worst.

"I really wish you luck, Frenchman."

Cherry murmured to herself, genuinely wishing that. Because Francis was what Arthur desperately needed, and Cherry would make sure he would also get it.

* * *

**Ivre = Drunk**

**Et je…je l'ai tuée = And I…I killed her**

**Now we have more information on Francis' background, and are about to see what kind of a shitstorm that funeral is going to be. I sure as hell am looking forward to writing it, it's going to be fun XD**

**Please leave a review, and favourite/follow if this fic is to your liking~**


	7. Chapter 6

**I swear I'm not writing too many chapters on purpose. I just really like writing, apparently. So much it takes over my hands and before I know it one chapter had become two. It's blessed but wicked sorcery and I hope I could apply it to school assignments...**

**In any case, have Ch. 6, and (hopefully!) second to last chapter! It's just pretty much tense family drama and Arthur and his oldest brother being angry at each other. Have fun! **

**I do not own Hetalia, I only own my own imagination**

* * *

Chapter 6

Nothing looked different from the last time Arthur had seen it. The rolling fields were still a dull green, the sky was still the same amount of cloudy, and the bus was still just as noisy and old. Well, now it was probably even older, and Arthur was surprised they still used the same bus. And he knew it was the same bus, because he had found his old initials carved on the underside of the seat he always sat on, now surrounded by even more gum and other filth. The village in which Arthur's childhood home resided probably didn't have any funds to replace the public transportation vehicles. Most people used their own cars anyway.

Arthur's forehead was against the glass, and although the vibrations from the road made his ears itch, he didn't move his head. Arthur had a headache; he hadn't slept last night. Which was no surprise, really. This trip in itself was a headache and a source of stress and the lack of sleep was only amplifying an already existing headache.

The bus, almost completely empty at this point, suddenly came to a quick halt. And as Arthur looked out the window to his left, he saw a very familiar looking large building. Their family manor, which had been in their family for countless generations, and behind it spread several acres of land all under the Kirkland name. It had been Arthur's father's, and now it would probably go to the oldest son, Alistair. There was no actual bus stop, but Arthur had asked the driver to make a quick stop here, since it was along the route.

"You getting off, lad?"

The aforementioned driver hollered to the back, where Arthur was sitting in a daze. Arthur blinked and nodded, though the driver probably couldn't see that. He stood up, grabbing his bag, and climbed out of the bus. Arthur barely registered it driving away, his eyes were glued to the manor. It looked intimidating, the old-style architecture remnant of the 1600s. Before Arthur had adored this frontage in all its granite glory, but now…Arthur was scared. With slightly shaking hands Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Arthur opened the texting app and read Francis' answer to his message about being out of town for a day or two.

'Oui_, understood. And when you get back do stop by the shop, _cheri_. I have made a brand-new bouquet in your image.'_

The message made Arthur's hands stop shaking, and a small smile graced his features. Somehow knowing Francis was waiting for him to get back, was thinking of him, gave Arthur mental strength to see this through. He took a deep breath, put away the phone and walked down the long pathway to the door.

There was no doorbell, and Arthur lifted the heavy knocker and informed the people inside of his presence. The knock's echo could be heard even outside, and within his mind Arthur could already see the vast, open foyer that awaited behind the double doors.

Steps sounded from inside, and not few minutes later the door opened. In the doorway stood Alistair, bit taller than Arthur and his hair a fiery red like their mother's. But they shared the same complexion, impressive eyebrows and eyes. Eyes, that now clashed as the two took each other in. Alistair, 4 years older than Arthur, still looked exactly like Arthur remembered. Gentlemanly yet ever so slightly cocky demeanour and smart yet casually rumpled clothing. But his usually vibrant and mischievous eyes were clouded with grief and anger; the temper ran in the family and sorrow usually shrouded itself with aggression.

Arthur probably looked different from how Alistair remembered him; today Arthur hadn't put on makeup and had his more official clothes on. He still had his leather jacket, but under it Arthur had on a moss green sweater vest and white dress shirt. He was wearing a pair of dark grey trousers and with those his sturdy boots, now polished and the studs on the stem were hidden under the pantlegs. It was an even mix of punk and business, and Arthur's Kirkland blonde hair topped it all. In all honesty Arthur felt bare without his rebellious punk attire, but he had decided to do this without the help of his "shield". Otherwise this would have no meaning.

The brothers stood there for several moments, eyeing each other, until Alistair leaned on the doorframe, not letting Arthur in just yet.

"The black sheep's back home. After, what, how many years? Five?"

Alistair said with quiet venom, his Scottish accent still strong after studying there for most of his childhood. Arthur could feel a small sting at those words, but didn't show it. Instead he crossed his arms and furrowed his brow, just like always when he was about to defend himself.

"I didn't exactly get the impression that I was welcome here. Or maybe you didn't get the memo?"

Arthur said right back, words dripping with sarcasm. Alistair frowned now too, and stopped leaning on the doorframe.

"That wasn't my idea. You could've at least called, ya git, do ya have any idea-?!"

"Don't start with your high-and-might speeches, Alistair, you sure seemed into the idea when you called me a faggot!"

"I was a stupid kid, Arthur, I tried to apologize after!"

"23-year-old a kid?! My arse! And you call that apologizing?! You made it all about you, thoughtless wanker!"

"Oh, you son of a-!"

"We share the same mother, imbecile, so go ahead and finish that sentence! I dare you!"

"HEY!"

Arthur and Alistair both froze and slowly looked at Dylan, who had shown up behind his oldest brother's back. His eyes were shimmering from tears, but the young man was clearly holding them from falling. He was saving them for the funeral tomorrow.

"You should be ashamed. Father has just died; you can fight later. But now, have some respect. So give it a break, Nessie."

It had been such a long time since Arthur had heard his and Alistair's nicknames. Alistair looked at the floor in anger, turned around and stormed off. So typical of him. Arthur and Dylan sighed simultaneously, Arthur in frustration and anger and Dylan in exhaustion. He sent Arthur a small smile, which Arthur didn't return. Dylan was among his favourite brothers and one of his two younger brothers, but Arthur still remembered the eyes with which the young man had looked at him five years ago.

"Welcome home, Artie. We've been waiting, including Father."

Arthur found that hard to believe, but he nodded nevertheless and stepped inside. Dylan closed the door behind him. He was around the same height as Arthur, which astounded the Brit. Last time he had seen Dylan the boy had just turned 17. But now he was 22 and probably in college. Or in an apprenticeship. Arthur realized that it bugged him that he didn't know what his baby brother was doing with his life. And speaking of baby brothers, as the two walked across the lobby and into the large dining room Arthur's youngest brother nearly tackled the Brit, as he ran in for a hug. Peter, the family's evening star, was the only brother Arthur didn't carry any grudges for, because the kid had only been 7 when Arthur had left. Peter hadn't even known what a gay person was back then. Now he probably did. And still the young boy was hugging Arthur in a vice grip, and Arthur allowed himself to ruffle the kid's hair.

"Hello, poppet."

"Hi, you jerk."

Peter muttered while pouting, stepping away from his older brother after giving one last squeeze. Peter and Arthur had always gotten along well but despite that Peter had always called Arthur a jerk. It was a nickname at this point more than an insult, and Peter used it just as naturally as he had five years ago. That lightened the weight on Arthur's heart slightly.

"Arthur."

A familiar female voice sounded, and Arthur looked towards the large table in the centre of the room. Around the table were seated Alistair, still in a bad mood from just now, and across him was Connor, silently glaring towards Arthur. Connor had always been the quietest but also the most intelligent out of all of them, almost more competent than the oldest son Alistair. But Connor preferred the shadows and the background, happily supporting his older brother from behind the scenes. Next to Connor was Dylan, drawing small circles on the wooden surface with his forefinger, and Peter walked back to his seat next to Alistair. And at the end of the table was seated Harriet Kirkland; her red hair looked even more vibrant by the few grey and white streaks going through it. She was 60, and yet she was beautiful. Although her beauty was marred by the red, puffy eyes and cheeks, clear sign that she had been crying. Actually, now that Arthur looked closely, he could see all his brothers had the same red eyes. Even Connor, who was notorious for never being anything but grumpy. And they all looked very tired, wearing mourning clothes in all their black glory.

"I'm glad you could come, son."

Harriet said with an exhausted, yet sincere looking smile. But all Arthur could see was the tense fake smile she had given him years ago, just days before she had told him to never come back.

"Sure. Where is he? I came here to say goodbye and I'd like to get that over with. Before any of the other relatives arrive."

Arthur said the last words with more bite than he had intended, and he could see Harriet flinch a bit. Alistair's frown deepened and he stood up, looking ready to yell, but Peter grabbed his hand and Dylan sent him a stern look. That was enough to hold Alistair back, for now at least. Connor sighed from his place and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Yes, of course. This place probably isn't comfortable for you anymore. He's here."

Harriet answered sorrowfully, stood up and walked to the door on the side of the room, that Arthur knew lead to a small ball room. It had probably been fashioned into a wake for Thomas Kirkland, the old patriarch of the Kirkland family.

Arthur followed after Harriet, and so did all his brothers. Arthur could feel Peter sticking close to him, and Arthur reached and gave the boy's hair a small ruffle. Thomas hadn't been a bad father to Arthur always. Rather, he'd been a kind and supporting father until he had come out. So, Arthur felt bad for Peter, who had had the least time with the man.

But when Arthur saw the room he was surprised, that he didn't see a coffin at the other end of the isle that went through the rows of chairs. Rather, there was a pedestal with an urn on it. Arthur blinked, and looked at Harriet. She had been expecting Arthur's surprise and had an answer ready.

"He changed his mind towards the end of his life, about having an open coffin. He wanted to be cremated, and his ashes will be spread across this plot of land."

Arthur really was surprised. For as long as he could remember Thomas had been dead set on being buried in a coffin by his parents and their parents and so on in the Kirkland mausoleum. To be cremated and not to have a set grave? That was unheard of.

"He wanted to forever be a part of this estate. The old man loved it here."

Alistair added behind Arthur, and when he said that it made sense. Arthur was actually surprised none of his relatives had thought to do this before. And…it was also how Arthur wanted to someday be buried. To be cremated and for the ashes to be spread at a place he thought to be his home. So, probably not here.

Arthur, without waiting for Harriet's okay, just walked along the isle and over to the urn. He looked down on it; on the urn were the words "A leader, a father, a forgiver, a sinner", and Arthur was yet again surprised that Thomas would admit that he indeed was a sinner. He had always been such a proud individual. But "a forgiver"? That one rubbed Arthur in the wrong way. But he let it go, it wasn't like he could complain at Thomas' face anymore, and he kneeled down before the pedestal. Harriet and his brothers were staying back, and Arthur appreciated the privacy. Quietly, he whispered at the urn, because Arthur did believe that the dead sometimes listened.

"I haven't forgiven you, you know. You were the leader of this damn family; you could've saved me. But instead you joined the bandwagon and cast me out. Called me all those cruel things, caused me to lash out, broke me. But I'm not one to deny a dead man his dying wish, so I'm here to say goodbye. And wherever you ended up at, heaven or hell or in-between, I hope you'll make peace with yourself, and with the fact that you lost a son in me."

With that Arthur stood up, and once more stared down at the urn. And he realized that he couldn't properly remember how Thomas had looked like. He had been so determined to leave behind all the shit of his past that Arthur had refused to think about the man, about the things he had set. But now those words were all rushing back in and saying them was just a faceless figure filled with hate and disgust and contempt. A black mass of negative emotions and energy. But…Arthur knew Thomas hadn't been just that. Thomas had been a good leader, a decent father, a proud man who was much too British. Stubborn and cranky and quick to both laugh and yell. Arthur had always seen a part of Thomas in himself, and he had been first proud of it and then loathed it. But now he was just…sad. Yes, the sadness had finally come, and as always alongside it came anger. Arthur squeezed his hands into fists, and bitter tears fell from his eyes. There weren't many, Arthur still hated Thomas, but the part of him that acknowledged the man as his father was weeping.

Arthur stood there for a while, almost 10 minutes, until his tears were all done. And when he turned and walked back to his family, he matched their look now with his puffy, red eyes and cheeks. Harriet began to reach out, but then apparently decided against it and withdrew her hand. She knew her place, and she knew Arthur still hadn't forgiven him.

"There is one more thing, dear."

She said and Arthur looked at her incredulously. He still had to do something? The deal had been to only say goodbye to the old fart and then leave. Arthur wanted to isolate himself in his hotel room and maybe text Francis and Cherry, that he was coming back tomorrow. Arthur needed to somehow unload all of this. Maybe sketch, call Cherry and rant, or even start a texting quarrel with Francis that would then turn into sexting.

But that would apparently have to wait. Arthur sighed and looked at his mother in a way that screamed 'Well? What is it, then?'

"It's his testament. We're having a private reading today; it was his wish for only us to hear it. Including you."

Arthur blinked, but slowly nodded. So, he was allowed to hear what Thomas had left for each of his sons and close family? Rather, Arthur was surprised that he was included, and he was fearful of what was awaiting on the pages of that possibly life-changing document.

15 minutes later the Kirkland family lawyer arrived, and they all gathered in Thomas' reading room. Arthur looked around the room, it hadn't changed a bit. As a child it had been his favourite place to read, usually under the large work desk by the window, listening to his father write letters, go through important documents or type on his old computer. It had been a safe haven. And then it had turned into a torture chamber of yelling, insults and the occasional slap or punch.

"Well then, I am officially breaking the seal on the last will and testament of Thomas Frederick Kirkland the Third. The date is September the 2nd, time is 3:42pm."

It was all so official, and Arthur found his eyes wandering to the window. It was going to rain soon. With his other ear Arthur was listening to the lawyer read, letting the information flow out of his other ear. He heard something about Alistair inheriting the estate, as expected, and the rest of the brothers got other smaller pieces of property around the British Isles, though Peter would have to wait until he was 21 before he'd officially get the ownership of his share. Then the lawyer said Arthur's name, which was at the very end of the testament.

"And to Arthur Kirkland, my third son, whom I treated with injustice and ill will. To you I leave no earthly possessions, but my forgiveness for your sins, as in exchange I ask you to forgive the sins I committed towards you. That concludes the last will and testament of Thomas Frederick Kirkland. I thank you for your presence."

Arthur stared at the lawyer as he progressed the words that had just left the man's lips. Thomas gave Arthur…his forgiveness? Arthur frowned deeply, and anger began to boil under his skin. Peter could see it, and let go of the arm he had been holding. He knew that face, all his brothers looked like that before they yelled. Harriet opened her mouth to try and make excuses for the way Thomas had worded his apology, but Arthur didn't listen. He was infuriated, and he was done with this.

"He gives me his forgiveness? For the sins I committed?"

Arthur said, at first at a normal volume, but it steadily increased as he kept talking. Connor stepped forward and opened his mouth to try and make Arthur pause before he flew into a complete fit, but it was too late.

"That asshole, the fucking mastermind behind all my misfortunes, has the goddamn gall to insinuate that I have sinned?! That I did something wrong?! Well, damn him to hell!"

At that Harriet gasped, and Alistair couldn't hold himself back anymore. He stepped forward and grabbed Arthur by the collar.

"Shut your fucking mouth, Arthur! We treated you like shit, but you aren't exactly squeaky clean either. You did your fair share of pretty fucking messed up stuff, so don't you dare say you are without sin!"

Arthur glared at Alistair with all his might, and Alistair glared back. He could feel Dylan and Connor trying to pry them apart, but Arthur didn't care. He in turn grabbed Alistair by his collar and growled out his response.

"I won't shut up when that man so fucking high-and-mightily 'gives me forgiveness'! Even in death he won't say he's sorry, he won't admit that he was the reason why I 'sinned' in the first place! I'm fucking sick of being treated like this just because I'M FUCKING GAY!"

Arthur roared the last words, just so there would be no second-guessing the very root cause of this all. Yes, he was gay. Yes, he loved fucking men. Yes, he had fallen for a man. And he sure as hell hadn't chosen that path.

Peter had started to cry, and so had Dylan and Harriet. Connor tried to remain stone-faced and the voice of reason(like always), but the situation was clearly out of his hand. Arthur and Alistair barely noticed their surroundings, they were too busy trying to kill each other with their eyes.

"It tortured him, Arthur! It killed him that he couldn't say it! He was a stubborn old fool but you didn't see him, didn't know him! You are the victim, but not the only victim! So step down from your 'woe is me' tower and fucking look around you! Or if you can't just get your oh so pitiful gay ass out of here and DON'T COME BACK!"

That was what finally snapped something inside Arthur. It was like he was re-living the past, but now Alistair had taken Thomas' place. Arthur had hoped this trip would be quick and as painless as possible. He'd come in, say goodbye, go out. But was anything ever that easy when it came to his family? No, of course not. And yet again Arthur had been cast out, and this time Arthur would leave without any tears or woes. Or at least he'd try.

Without saying a word Arthur pushed Alistair off and walked out of the room. He could hear Peter crying, Dylan trying to reason with him and Harriet pleading. Even Connor was trying to get his attention. But Arthur ignored them all. He grabbed his bag from where it still was by the door, threw on his leather jacket and stomped out. Harriet and Dylan watched from the door, but Peter didn't stay behind. He ran after Arthur and latched himself onto his big brother, forcing Arthur to look down with a glare. Peter flinched, Arthur had never looked at him like that, but he didn't let go.

"Please…don't give up on us. We miss you."

Peter begged, tears still falling from his eyes. And the look in Peter's eyes made Arthur heart ache and he could feel tears slowly forming in his own eyes. The boy's words were surprisingly mature for someone his age, and the Brit found himself regretting, that he hadn't been able to see Peter grow up to this point. But Arthur refused to let the words hold him back, he couldn't afford it. Instead he pried Peter off as gently as possible and didn't answer the boy. Arthur walked away, just like 5 years ago. But this time he didn't yell insults after him, didn't make obscene hand gestures, and his family didn't glare at him. Instead Harriet, Dylan and Peter were crying, Alistair and Connor were still looking angry but also…regretful and sorrowful.

But Arthur didn't see it. He didn't look back. And he walked all the way back to the village, and when he got to his hotel room he completely broke down.

* * *

**We continue along the lines of "EmiRose has no idea how much she's going to write and can't plan chapter lengths" XD So, the next chapter will (hopefully!) be the last one, and after that there will be a short epilogue. Let's wish that this won't stretch anymore, because I have a mountain of fic ideas to develop!**

**Please leave a review, and favourite/follow if this fic is to your liking~**


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